' 


http://www.archive.org/details/aswesawitinOOsheliala 


UCSB  UBRAEY 


AS  WE    SAW   IT 


IN 


'90 


GRACE    CAREW    SHELDON 


BUFFALO 
Published  by  The  Woman's  Exchange 

298  Main  Street 

MDCCCXC 


Copyright   hv 
GRACE    CAREW   SHELDON. 


AyiwW'  9fa<S*~ 


&       /#?2. 


TO    MY   FRIEND, 

F.    A.     CRAN DA  LL. 


"  Go,  little  book;    God  give  thee  good  passage." 

—CHA  UCRR. 


NOT  A    BENE. 

When  a  child,  I  used  to  think  prefaces  were 
invented  for  the  especial  convenience  of  children, 
who  loved  to  say  on  the  heading,  "  Peter  Rice 
eats  frogs  and  catches  eagles,"  and  backwards 
ad  libitum ;  hence  this  N.  B. 

'Tis  only  to  say,  however,  that  these  letters 
were  originally  written  for  the  Courier,  during 
the  summer  of  1890,  while  "on  the  wing." 
This  meant  writing  late  into  the  night  to  catch 
a  steamer,  in  the  barest  of  rooms,  by  tallow-dips 
or  bougies,  on  trains,  in  stations — in  fact,  when- 
ever and  wherever  a  quiet  spot  was  obtained. 

They,  therefore,  make  no  pretense,  but  would 
gladly  be  of  assistance  to  future  travelers,  who 
may  be  fortunate  enough  to  tread  the  same 
paths  they  tell  of. 

I  desire  to  thank,  in  this  public  manner,  every 
man,  woman  or  child,  no  matter  how  humble, 
who  in  any  way  contributed  to  our  comfort  or 
enjoyment  while  abroad ;  trusting  any  word  of 
praise  I  may  have  said,  will  bring  its  own 
reward.  Also,  to  thank  home-keeping  friends 
for  prayers  and  good  wishes,  which  followed  us 
everywhere.  G.  C.  S. 

The  Evergreens,  1094  Main  Street, 
Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  Dec.  12,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


LETTER     I.  Page. 

On  Shipboard i 

LETTER    II. 
Irish  Scenes, 14 

LETTER    III. 
Killarney's  Lakes, 31 

LETTER    IV. 
Sights  in  Ireland, 48 

LETTER    V. 
New  Tipperary, 69 

LETTER    VI. 
The  Causeway, 88 

LETTER    VII. 
Burns  and  Scott, 107 

LETTER    VIII. 
The  Scottish  Lakes,       128 

LETTER    IX. 
In  the  Grampians,       146 

LETTER    X. 
On  the  Continent, 163 

LETTER    XI. 
Delights  of  Paris, 180 

ADDENDA. 
Oberammergau — The  Passion  Play,     ...     .     .     198,  219 


LETTER     I. 
On  Shipboard. 

Some  of  the  Queer  Fellow-Passengers — A  Troupe  of  Stage 
People — Arrival  at  Queenstown — Warm  Welcome  from  an 
Old  Woman. 

Steamship  City  of  Chicago,  June  18,  1890. 
This  is  our  seventh  day  at  sea.  We  know  the 
Majestic,  which  sailed  the  same  hour  as  we  did,  is 
no  doubt  two  days  ahead  of  us,  yet  those  of  our 
party  who  are  good  sailors  lie  back  in  our  steamer 
chairs  and  contentedly  wish  for  nothing  better  than 
to  go  on  for  seven  days  more.  The  voyage  thus 
far  has  been  an  unusual  one,  as  we  have  encount- 
ered very  little  fog.  and  absolutely  no  stormy 
weather.  The  sea  is  far  from  calm,  however,  as 
we  are  getting  the  tail  of  a  storm,  which  for 
thirty-six  hours,  aided  by  a  strong  southwest 
wind,  has  kept  our  ship  actively  engaged  in  bath- 
ing first  her  right  and  then  her  left  side  in  the 
sea.  Fortunately  she  is  broadly  built  and  takes 
no  "  wicked  water,"  to  speak  nautically.  This 
gives  her  a  dactylic  style  of  motion,  one  long  and 


2  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

two  short  rolls,  which  is  much  more  restful  than 
the  monotonous  motion  usual  to  narrower  and 
faster  steamships.  To  those  desiring  a  steady  ship 
I  would  heartily  recommend  the  Chicago.  I  am 
told  by  authority  that  during  the  severest  winter 
passages  she  seldom  ships  water,  and  that  the 
percentage  of  food  consumed  is  greater,  and  the 
breakage  of  crockery  less,  on  her  than  on  any 
steamer  of  her  size  afloat. 

During  this  trip  the  tables  have  been  filled  even 
when  she  was  pivoting  about  the  worst,  and  while 
she  certainly  rolls  she  does  it  in  a  style  of  her  own 
that  is  not  conducive  to  sea-sickness  or  loss  of 
appetite. 

Her  officers  are  all  courteous,  and  have  done 
a  great  deal  for  the  comfort  of  our  party.  The 
head  steward,  Allan  McLeod,  or  '*  McLeod  of 
Dare,"  as  we  have  christened  him,  being  an  old 
friend,  gratifies  our  every  wish,  and  as  a  kindly 
head  steward  can  do  much  more  for  a  passenger 
than  even  the  ship's  captain,  since  he  carries  the 
keys,  we  are  certainly  fortunate.  The  chief  engi- 
neer is  the  senior  engineer  of  the  Inman  line,  and 
Mr.  Kavanagh,  the  purser,  also  enjoys  seniority  ; 
but  he  prefers  the  Chicago  to  either  the  Neva  York 
or  Paris,  and  so  say  we  all  of  us. 

As  to  the  passengers,  they  have  furnished  us  a 
fund  of  amusement.     By  degrees  we  have  become 


ON  SHIPBOARD.  3 

acquainted  with  most  of  them  and  have  selected 
as  friends  a  dozen,  whom  we  hope  to  know  better 
in  the  future.  The  survival  of  the  fittest  obtains 
here  as  on  land,  and  there  does  not  exist  a  more 
favorable  place  in  the  world  for  developing  mean 
and  hidden  personal  traits  than  the  raging  main. 

To  begin  with,  there  is  Signor  Sing-a-Ninny.  For 
the  first  few  days  he  appears  on  deck  only  towards 
evening,  and  as  he  speaks  to  no  one  and  is  "  dark 
complected,"  we  conjecture  he  is  only  able  to  use 
his  native  Italian  tongue.  By  an  unconscious  pro- 
cess we  discover  later  that  he  is  not  only  an 
Irishman,  but  was  born  in  New  York. 

We  shall  ever  remember  him  in  three  attitudes. 
First,  as  he  came  above,  attired  in  an  exceedingly 
shabby  steamer  cap,  faded  ulster,  and  antique  and 
spotted  trousers.  As  he  emerged  upon  deck  he 
would  take  two  cotton  wads  from  either  coat- 
pocket  and  deposit  them  in  his  ears,  and  since  he 
always  kept  his  mouth  closed,  we  concluded  this 
was  to  prevent  any  of  his  expensive  tenor  voice 
from  escaping.  After  a  brief  and  evidently  painful 
stroll  on  deck  he  would  assume  the  second  attitude. 
Donning  a  pair  of  woolen  gloves,  the  sight  of  which 
put  one's  teeth  on  edge,  he  would  wrap  himself  in 
two  Italian  silk  rugs,  and  recline  his  head  against 
a  "  greenery  yellery "  silk-covered  pine  pillow, 
embroidered  with  something  about  "soft  breezes" 


4  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

and  "pine  spills."  Thirdly,  we  remember  him  at 
supper,  the  usually  jolly  fourth  and  last  meal  of 
the  day,  with  his  Chinese  style  of  moustache 
drooping  about  his  mouth,  as  he  consumed  beer 
and  ate  Welsh  rarebit,  while  leaning  his  pom- 
aded head  upon  a  begemmed  hand. 

When  our  charity  concert  came  off  he  refused 
to  sing.  We  all  knew  he  would,  but  the  next 
afternoon  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  raise  his 
voice  by  an  Englishwoman  we  have  named  Miss 
Flitter,  who  has  been  actively  engaged,  much  to 
our  amusement,  in  flitting  after  him  during  the 
trip.  He  certainly  is  made  of  heroic  stuff,  and 
proved  it  by  insulting  one  of  the  passengers,  an 
editor  of  the  New  York  Herald,  who  he  dared 
to  accuse  of  taking  a  soiled  red-silk  handker- 
chief, saying  if  it  could  not  be  found  he  would 
hold  him  responsible  for  it  at  Liverpool.  When, 
two  minutes  afterwards,  it  was  found,  he  neglected 
to  return  and  apologize.  The  editor,  in  deference 
to  his  wife,  did  not  mop  the  deck  with  him,  but, 
no  doubt,  a  day  of  reckoning  will  come  when 
Perugini  least  expects  it.  There  !  I  did  not  intend 
to  tell  his  name,  but  as  it  has  escaped  me  I'll  let 
it  stay  said,  although  our  nickname  we  felt  was 
perfect. 

T.  Hurley,  Esq.,  was  another  character.  If  you 
have  never  met  him,  you  should   hope  to  do  so  ; 


OiV   SHIPBOARD.  5 

and  if  you  have,  you  know  exactly  what  a  loyal 
American  he  is,  and  how  cleverly  and  logically  he 
defends  his  country  from  the  word  attacks  made 
upon  it  by  John  Bull,  and  his  son  or  daughter. 
These  have  perhaps  seen  only  New  York,  and  con- 
sequently feel  they  know  all  there  is  worth  know- 
ing about  the  United  States.  He  travels  always 
with  a  full-fledged  American  flag,  once  taken  by 
Rebels  and  then  left  behind  in  their  flight.  It  is 
scarred  and  tattered,  but  has  probably  made  as 
many,  if  not  more,  journeys  than  any  other  flag 
of  its  age.  "  I  carry  a  paper  upon  me  saying,  if  I 
die  suddenly,  wrap  me  in  this  flag,  and  slide  me 
into  the  sea  or  earth,  wherever  I  am,"  said  Mr. 
Hurley  one  day.  Eccentric  but  loyal  Mr.  Hurley, 
we  honor  you  ! 

From  the  South  we  had  cotton-growers  and  horse- 
dealers  going  out  for  Percherons.  One  of  their 
number  was  a  man  who  got  to  be  as  great  a  curi- 
osity as  the  "  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask."  He  never 
appeared  at  table,  on  deck,  or  at  a  card  party, 
given  by  his  set,  without  his  hands  in  a  soiled  pair 
of  dark-red  kid  gloves.  Both  hands  were  his  own, 
as  we  could  tell  from  the  way  in  which  he  used 
them,  and  even  the  men  were  anxious  to  know 
the  reason  for  this  strange  freak,  but  we  never  had 
our  curiosity  satisfied. 

A    Dr.  G and  his  daughter  entertained  us 


6  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

immensely.  He  has  a  college  for  missionaries  at 
Bow,  by  Whitechapel  in  London,  and  has  been  for 
a  trip  to  Australia.  He  brushes  his  hair  all  off 
his  face  in  imitation  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and 
has  the  most  sactimonious  countenance  I  ever 
beheld.  He  certainly  did  not  speak  to  a  dozen 
people  on  board,  but  when  he  and  his  daughter 
took  their  walks  abroad  they  were  heard  to  rave 
over  Ruskin  or  Beethoven  (she  being  very  mus- 
ical), or  he  repeated  some  of  the  profound  poems 
or  sermons  he  had  been  inspired  to  write  that  day. 
I  am  quite  sure  they  hardly  realized  they  trod  the 
vulgar  deck  of  a  steamer,  so  above  the  common 
herd  were  they  as  they  chewed  their  intellectual 
cuds  in  unison. 

No  doubt  the  doctor  is  a  profound  student, 
and  they  say  his  book,  "  The  Approaching  End 
of  the  Age,"  is  worth  reading,  but  I  cannot 
appreciate  people  who  look  ready  to  be  trans- 
lated at  any  moment.  They  are  too  uncanny 
for  this  age  of  a-go-as-you-please  scramble  for 
bread  and  butter.  The  daughter  did  not  know 
where  cotton  came  from — I  did  want  to  tell  her  on 
cotton  sheep — and  she  said,  "It  must  be  awfully 
jolly  to  be  beautiful." 

She  approached  one  of  the  loveliest  young 
women  on  board  one  day  and  said  :  "  Do  you 
belong  to  God  ?  " 


ON  SHIPBOARD.  7 

"  Yes,  ma'm,  I  hope  so,"  she  answered  meekly. 

After  this  we  used  to  say,  "Do  you  belong  to 
God — or  the  troupe  ? "  for  among  us  were  a  num- 
ber of  specialists,  returning  from  a  fourteen-weeks' 
trip  under  Tony  Pastor's  management.  It  was 
known  they  were  on  board  when  we  sailed,  and 
each  group  suspected  every  other  group  of  being 
the  troupe.  At  last  it  was  possible  to  identify  them, 
and  we  found  them  very  amusing.  The  men  of 
the  party  were  five  in  number,  two  wonderful 
gymnasts  and  three  who  did  "  the  leg  business," 
as   they    called  it — high  kickers,  in  other  words. 

Then  there  was    Miss    Rose    S ,    the   greatest 

Irish  ballad  singer,  and  Mile.  V ,  a  contor- 
tionist. The  latter  invited  us  to  her  state-room 
one  morning  to  see  her  exercise.  This  she  is  com- 
pelled to  do  every  day,  for  fear  her  muscles  will 
stiffen.  I  really  never  saw  anything  more  extra- 
ordinary. She  twisted  herself  into  every  attitude 
imaginable,  with  the  greatest  ease,  and  said  she 
"would  just  as  soon  stand  on  'er  'ed  or  'er  'ands 

as    'er    feet."      She,  with   Miss    S ,  make   the 

round  of  three  theaters  nightly  in  London,  or,  as 
she  explained  it  in  her  own  words  :  "  We  goes  to 
the  first  theeater,  gets  hinto  hour  tights,  goes  on 
the  stage,  does  hour  hact,  goes  hoff,  hundresses, 
jumps  into  a  ,'ansom,  goes  to  the  second  theeater, 
gets  hinto  hour  tights,  goes  on  to  the  stage,  does 


8  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

hour  hact,  goes  hoff,  hundresses,  jumps  into  a 
'ansom,  goes  to  the  third  theeater,  gets  hinto  hour 
tights,  does  hour  hact,  goes  hout,  gets  into  hour 

'ansom  and  then  'ome."     Mile.  V gave  me  her 

photograph,  and  we  all  promised  we  would  go  to 
see  her  do  "  'er  hact  "  in  London. 

The  Delevine  brothers,  who  were  with  her,  per- 
form only  seven  minutes,  and  one  of  them,  who 
seemed  a  gentleman,  told  me  that  finding  he 
could  earn  as  much  every  evening  in  seven  min- 
utes as  he  could  by  hard  work  in  seven  days, 
much  against  his  parents'  wishes,  had  gone  on  the 
stage.  He  played  the  mandolin  and  sang  pleasing 
melodies,  and  altogether  they  entertained  us  and 
varied   the  usual  monotony  of   an  ocean  trip. 

We  had,  of  course,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Psalm-Creed. 
He  belonged  to  "  the  church  "  and  regularly 
talked  you  sleepy.  He  was  the  essence  of  polite- 
ness, had  traveled  everywhere,  and  knew  every- 
body, or  some  one  related  to  them  ;  but  his  con- 
versations were  as  long  as  the  litany  on  a  hot 
Sunday,  politeness  barring  your  right  to  exclaim, 
except  mentally,  "  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !  "  It 
took  practice  to  take  a  nap  and  wake  up  in  time 
to  say  yea  or  nay  in  the  correct  place,  and  he 
filled  one's  ideal  of  the  type  of  mankind  de- 
scribed in  "  Patience,"  viz.  : 

"  What  a  most  particularly  pure  young  man, 
This  pure  young  man  must  be." 


ON   SHIPBOARD.  9 

Of  course  we  had  the  aristocratic  lady  from 
Baltimore  and  her  daughter,  who  neglected  to  be 
polite,  and  the  lady  and  simpering  daughter  from 
Brooklyn,  who  had  a  most  unhappy  trip.  Sitting 
beside  her  the  first  day  out,  a  gentleman  acci- 
dentally saw  she  had  written  in  her  diary  :  "We 
do  not  think  there  are  any  people  on  board 
we  shall  care  to  know."  The  next  morning  I 
rescued  a  sheet  of  letter  paper,  well  written  over, 
from  going  into  the  sea.  In  order  that  I  might 
return  in  to  the  owner  I  glanced  hastily  down 
the  first  page,  and  hereon  found  this  same  idea 
expressed  in  a  more  prolix  manner.  Under  the 
circumstances  I  felt  rather  awkward  in  handing  it 
to  her,  but  we  all  found  out  it  was  her  first  trip, 
that  her  husband  was  rich  and  owned  a  yacht,  and 
that  they  did  not  know  how  long  they  should  be 
abroad  or  where  they  were  going.  We  called  her 
"  Mrs.  Miller  "  and  the  daughter  "  Daisy,"  and  the 
younger  brother  quite  completed  the  trio,  as  he 
was  very  restless  and  inclined  to  know  people. 

Mons.  La  Grippe  had  sent  a  number  of  his 
victims  to  sea  in  this  boat.  They  came  on  board 
as  a  last  resort,  and  I  am  happy  to  state  we  will 
have  all  of  them  walking  about  and  feeling  very 
cheerful  before  we  land. 


io  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Cork,  June  20,  1890. 

This  letter  was  interrupted  by  the  many  things 
that  were  crowded  in  at  the  last — attending  to 
luggage,  feeing  stewards,  saying  good-bye,  with 
honest  regret  to  many,  and  finally  on  Friday  at 
noon  seeing,  quite  as  soon  as  the  captain,  the  first 
Irish  bull  ever  made,  a  huge  rock  which,  with  the 
cow  and  calf,  tell  us  our  journey  is  almost  over. 
Five  hours  of  drifting  past  the  huge  inlets  of  the 
Irish  coast  brings  us  to  Queenstown,  and  we  leave 
the  ship  at  12  o'clock  on  the  tender  Flying  Fox. 
From  the  Daily  Corkscrew  or  Examiner  we  learn 
that  Mary  Anderson,  the  pale  and  stately,  has 
wedded  been,  and  that  some  nine  has  beaten  the 
Buffalos.  Such  interesting  and  depressing  news, 
all  in  one  paper,  gives  us  a  clear  idea  of  what  has 
transpired  in  our  country  during  the  last  ten  days. 

Amid  cheers,  good-byes,  and  waving  handker- 
chiefs, we  leave  our  good  ship,  with  her  myriad 
port-holes  glaring  with  light,  and  are  soon  at 
Queenstown.  We  enjoy  an  easy  passage  through 
the  new  and  perfectly  appointed  custom  house, 
thanks  to  Mr.  Manifold  and  his  kind  attentions, 
and  by  1.30  a.  m.  are  in  the  Queen's  Hotel. 
Here  we  can  keep  gangway  in  the  corridors  and 
soon  find  ourselves  in  a  bed  which  doesn't  rock 
beneath  us.  The  first  night's  rest  is  heavenly  ! 
We  love  the  sea,  but  we  also  love  the  land  ! 


ON  SHIPBOARD.  n 

Early  the  following  morning  we  discover  a 
grand  yachting  race  is  on.  The  harbor  of  Queens- 
town,  one  of  the  very  finest  in  the  world,  is  alive 
with  crafts  of  many  kinds,  brilliant  with  bunting, 
and  yet  we  must  not  linger.  Up  the  River  Lee 
we  go  in  a  steam-yacht  part  way  to  Cork,  and 
then  quite  there  by  train.  Exclamations  burst 
from  all  at  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  at  last 
Cork  is  reached.  From  here  we  drive  out  to 
Blarney  Castle,  a  few  rods  from  the  station  of 
Blarney.  The  ruin  is  everything  that  a  ruin  with 
any  pride  about  it  should  be,  and  we,  of  course, 
kiss  the  famous  stone  blessed  by  Father  Prout 
seven  times,  each  kiss  adding  seven  years  to  our 
lives.  Good-natured  Mrs.  Ford,  who  shows  us 
about,  assures  us  we  are  sure  to  be  married  now, 
and  hopes  we  may  return  with  our  husbands  to 
prove  her  words  come  true. 

We  gather  shamrock  and  yellow  vetch  and  pick 
up  crow's  feathers  in  the  castle,  and  bright  yellow 
taraxicum  (the  English  dandelion)  in  the  fields 
beyond.  It  is  twice  the  size  of  ours  and  has  three 
nicks  on  the  edge  of  each  petal.  After  a  glimpse 
of  the  Tower  through  the  "  peep-hole  "  in  the  old 
stone  bridge  of  the  village,  we  have  a  luncheon 
in  a  quaint  hotel,  over  which  we  wandered  ad 
libitum  while  the  hostess  prepared  our  food.  Her 
kitchen  ceiling  is  ornamented  with  flanks  of  bacon. 


12  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

It  must  hang  there  in  dust  and  mould  for  a 
twelvemonth,  she  says,  and  then,  being  soaked 
twenty-four  hours,  cuts  like  glass  and  is  delicious 
to  eat. 

Once  more  in  Cork,  we  take  a  jaunting-car, 
"  and  have  the  mostest  fun  "  driving  about  to  see 
Queen's  College  and  by  the  Sunday  Well  road  to 
Shandon  Church,  whose  bells  would  have  sounded 
very  grand  on  the  River  Lee  if  they  had  only 
chimed  for  us.  As  it  was  we  became  interested 
in  a  strayed  or  stolen  red  heifer,  which  was  adver- 
tised by  placards  stuck  up  on  every  spare  spot 
on  wall  or  fence,  and  in  the  remarkably  old  men 
and  women  we  met.  The  former  wear  huge 
black  circulars.  If  married,  this  has  a  hood  ;  if 
single,  a  cape.  "lis  the  event  in  a  woman's  life 
when  she  gets  this  garment,  for  it  costs  five  and 
six  pounds  sterling  and  must  last  a  lifetime,  being 
of  heavy  cloth. 

Three  o'clock  finds  us  in  a  third-class  railway 
carriage  for  Bantry.  We  have  as  companions 
opposite  us  two  women,  a  little  girl,  a  boy  and 
a  typical  old  Irishman,  wearing  an  antique  silk 
hat,  with  his  belongings  done  up  in  a  red-cotton 
handkerchief.  One  of  us  offers  the  boy  tup- 
pence for  his  seat  by  the  window.  He  rises  at 
once,  changes  seats  with  her,  but,  to  our  amaze- 
ment,   refuses    the    reward.     This    act    puts    him 


ON  SHIPBOARD.  13 

beside  a  comrade,  and  we  discover,  after  several 
questions,  that  they  are  on  their  way  to  join  the 
training  ship,  the  Shannon,  in  Bantry  Bay,  and 
have  come  all  the  way  from  Galway  that  day. 

During  conversation  the  old  woman  opposite 
discovers  we  are  not  as  other  folks  are,  and  in  a 
moment  of  enthusiasm  rises,  and,  seizing  me  by 
the  hand,  cries  out : 

•'Are  yez  from  Ameriky  ?  Then  welcome  to 
ould   Ireland  !  " 

This  completely  breaks  the  ice.  I  give  the 
small  girl  an  American  penny,  we  answer  no  end 
of  questions,  and  finally  my  old  friend  says  : 

"  Have  yez  no  elastic  on  yer  hat  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answer,  and,  drawing  out  my  hat-pin, 
I  completely  transfix  her  mentally  with  it,  and 
had  it  not  been  my  only  one,  she  should  have 
had  it  for  her  cleverness  in  observing.  As  she 
approaches  her  station  she  rises,  and  saying,  "  Me 
name's  Mrs.  Haley;  what  might  yur  name  be?" 
she  points  out  her  house,  not  far  off  from  the 
rroad,  and  politely  invites  us  all  to  come  and  see 
her  if  we  return  that  way.  Should  I  live  for  a  hun- 
dred years,  I  shall  never  forget  her  unexpected 
welcome,  and  trust  it  is  an  omen  of  many  good 
times  to  come  in  this  sunny  Emerald  Isle. 


LETTER     II. 
Irish  Scenes. 

The  Dreadful  Poverty  of  the  Peasantry — A  Priest  up 
Before  a  Court — He  is  Accused  of  Incendiary  Speeches 
Against  an  Episcopal  Clergyman. 

Glengariffe,  County  Cork,  Ireland, 
June  23,  1890. 

In  my  last  letter  I  left  you  at  Bantry.  Here 
our  third-class  carriage  drew  up  exactly  opposite 
the  stage-coach  stand,  where  an  Irish  Jehu  stood 
ready  to  help  us  mount  his  red-wheeled  vehicle. 
This  we  did  with  alacrity,  getting  front  seats, 
while  our  more  stylish  friends  were  coming  from 
their  first-class  cars,  up  in  the  front  of  the  train. 
How  glad  we  were  to  be  once  more  in  the  fresh 
air,  which  here  was  salt  from  the  sea,  I  need  not 
emphasize.  Suffice  to  say,  when  under  way  we, 
found  our  driver  civil  and  witty  and  wide  awake 
to  all  the  often-seen  beauty  of  his  native  land. 

In  answer   to    my  question  :     H  Have   you   any 
relations  in  America  ?«"  he  replied  : 

"I  have,  Miss — thray  brothers,  and  they  are  all 
coachmin." 


IRISH   SCENES.  15 

"  You  should  come  over,  too,  and  try  your  luck. 
You  seem  a  good  whip." 

"  I  am,  Miss,  be  nayture.  Me  fayther  had  fur 
sons,  and  every  wan  of  thim  clung  to  the  tail  uv  a 
horse."' 

After  this,  between  chirruping  to  his  four  horses 
and  pointing  out  the  various  beauties  of  the 
country,  he  confessed  that,  being  "tharty-wan," 
he  had  concluded  'twas  "  time  to  sittle  down," 
and  that,  having  selected  "a  sinsible  gurrl — 
should  she  be  willin' — he  'ud  go  over  to  Ameriky 
when  the  sayson  was  over."  Of  course  I  assured 
him  it  was  the  very  best  plan. 

Since  then  I  have  learned  that,  in  order  to  get  a 
husband,  every  Irish  girl  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try has  to  earn  or  obtain  in  some  way  thirty-five 
shillings  English  money  with  which  to  pay  the 
marriage  fee.  With  that  once  in  her  hand  she 
can  easily  be  the  belle  of  the  county  and  marry 
any  disengaged  man.  Let  us  hope  his  sweetheart 
has  her  dot  and  that  their  wedding  may  come  off 
in  the  autumn. 

I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  little  about  this  very 
rare  drive  from  Bantry  to  Glengariffe.  American 
tourists  in  Ireland  do  not  as  a  rule  take  it,  since 
to  get  to  Killarney  from  Cork  by  rail,  via  Mal- 
low, is  so  easy  a  matter.  With  an  atlas  you  can 
follow  me,  and,  I  am  sure,  should  you  ever  land 


1 6  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

at  Queenstown,  you  will  be  glad  to  know  of  such 
a  route  in  advance. 

Leaving  Bantry  at  6.30  we  were  two  hours 
winding  in  and  out  about  the  three  arms  of  Bantry 
Bay  which  intervene  between  Bantry  and  Glen- 
gariffe.  Our  path  was  a  gradual  ascent,  our  guide- 
post  a  tree  upon  a  high  and  distant  hill.  Each 
turn  of  the  road  gave  us  new  views  of  sea  and 
land,  and  the  incoming  tide  murmured  a  sea-song 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  sunset  glow  that 
beautified  each  rock  and  tree.  Nearly  out  at  sea 
on  Widdy  Island  sat  the  "  Old  Maid  of  Erin  "  in 
her  stone  chair.  We  would  not  have  her  inter- 
preted by  our  guide  to  be  "  nought  but  an  old 
ruin,  mum."  At  a  turn  in  the  road  about  half-way 
to  Glengariffe  he  pointed  out  to  us  the  most 
miserable  hut,  I  verily  believe,  in  existence. 

"'Tis  there,  Miss,  lives  auld  Catherine  Shay. 
She's  nearly  ninety  years  auld.  See  the  schmoke 
cuming  out  av  her  chimbley.  No  doot  the  auld 
leddy  is  now  preparin'  her  tabble-de-hote,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

As  for  seeing  the  pig  in  the  parlor,  "  the  gin- 
tleman  who  pays  the  rint,"  or  the  Irish  canary, 
as  they  call  him,  "because  he  sings  so  sweet," 
such  a  sight  grew  too  common  to  notice. 

We  have  some  well-kept  horses  in  front  of  us, 
to  change  the  unpleasant  scene,  until  after  passing 


IRISH  SCENES.  17 

through  a  fairy-like  grove  between  walls  covered 
with  rare  ferns,  and  topped  with  rhododendrons, 
creepers  of  great  variety,  roses  in  profusion,  holly, 
arbutus,  and  yew,  we  draw  up  before  our  hotel, 
"  The  Eccles." 

Now  I  am  not  going  to  recommend  this  hotel, 
for  the  reason  that  it  is  fashionable,  expensive, 
and,  worse  than  all,  important.  The  fact  is,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  or  Whales,  as  we  call  him,  once 
"stopped  here  "some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago, 
and  ever  since  then  the  hotel  and  its  proprietors 
have  had  a  very  bad  case  of  "  La  Grippe  " — or,  in 
English,  "the  grip" — upon  the  purse  of  the  trav- 
eling American.  In  fact  we  concluded  the  "  grip  " 
originated  here.  Be  that  as  it  may,  after  being  duly 
fleeced,  we  tried  another  of  the  three  hotels  here, 
and  found  it  suited  in  every  way  to  cater  both 
to  our  appetites,  tired  bodies,  and  letters  of  credit. 
Yes,  the  Bellevue  is  well  named  !  It  had  "  liss 
furnitoor  than  the  Eccles,  to  be  sure,  but  more 
views,  mum,"  as  the  landlord  put  it,  and  that  was 
what  we  wanted. 

From  our  windows  Glengariffe  Bay,  with  its 
many  odd-shaped  islands,  one  of  them  a  perfect 
triangle,  could  be  seen  at  its  best,  and  the  view  at 
once  claimed  our  attention.  Perched  on  the  top 
of   its  most  distant  and  rugged   peninsula,  stood 


1 8  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  ruin  of  a  martello  tower  built  in  1815  by  the 
English.     A  visit  to  it  was  at  once  planned. 

Once  on  the  bay,  Glengariffe  Castle  loomed 
in  sight. 

"Is  that  a  castle?"  I  asked  of  the  guide. 

"  It  is,  mum." 

"  Who  lives  in  it  now  ?  " 

"  Payple,  mum." 

"  What's  their  name  ? " 

"  Mr.  Whitemum." 

"  Mr.  White  ? " 

"  Mr.  Whitemum." 

"  Is  his  name  Mr.  White  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Whitemum." 

Query — What  was  the  owner's  name  ? 

As  we  approach  the  old  tower  I  spy  a  hut 
beneath  it  in  the  rock. 

"  Who  lives  up  there  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Folks,  mum,"  he  answers. 

"  How  did  those  goats  get  on  that  island  ? " 
I  ask,  seeing  some  animals  a  long  way  off  from 
any  habitation. 

"  They  boats  'em  over,  mum." 

"Who — the  people  in  that  house  over  there  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  mum," — and  don't  care  either, 
he  might  have  added. 

In  the  rector  of  the  picturesque  Episcopal 
Church,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Carey,  we  found  and  made 


•  IRISH  SCENES,  19 

a  friend.  His  is  a  quaint  house,  covered  with 
roses  and  ivy,  in  the  midst  of  a  genuine  old-fash- 
ioned flower-garden.  He  courteously  welcomed 
us  to,  and  gave  us,  the  freedom  of  it,  filling  our 
arms  with  rarest  flowers.  These,  of  course,  have 
faded,  but  the  memories  they  accentuated  will 
always  remain. 

Monday  morning  was  warm  and  fair,  a  repeti- 
tion of  what  we  have  had  since  landing,  but  we 
did  not  carry  out  our  plan  to  coach  to  Killarney. 
We  had  received  an  invitation  from  Mr.  Cecil  R. 
Roche,  R.  M.,  to  attend  a  trial  that  day  at  Bantry 
of  a  priest,  Father  Crowley  of  Goleen,  for  intimi- 
dating the  Rev.  Mr.  Hopely  of  the  same  place, 
an  Episcopal  clergyman  between  seventy  and 
eighty  years  old. 

In  a  jaunting-car  we  took  the  same  enchanting 
road  back  to  Bantry  we  had  traversed  Saturday 
evening,  only  this  time  we  stopped  to  gather  ferns, 
iris,  bog  cotton,  and  various  flowers,  and  finally 
drew  up  before  the  hut  of  Mrs.  Shay.  She  was 
standing  on  the  turf  near  the  road,  the  picture  of 
wretched  neglect.  I  went  towards  her  and  won 
her  heart  by  saying  :  "  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Shay,"  as  I  shook  her  hand.  "  We  have  come  to 
see  you." 

"  Arragh,  and  I've  sane  ye  before,  me  dear,"  she 
replied. 


20  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Without  contradicting  her,  I  asked  :  "  How  old 
are  you,  Mrs.  Shay  ? " 

"  Ninety,  going  on  wan,"  she  answered  in  a 
tremulous  voice. 

"  May  we  go  into  your  house,  Mrs.  Shay  ? "  we 
asked  in  chorus,  so  anxious  were  we  all  to  see 
what  the  interior  could  be  like. 

She  showed  plainly  she  was  ashamed  "  for  the 
loikes  of  us,"  as  she  said,  "to  see  it ;"  but  this  did 
not  deter  us.  I  had  to  stoop  at  the  entrance,  and 
my  body  made  the  windowless  hut  perfectly  dark. 
Once  in,  I  could  see  a  glimmer  of  light  which 
came  down  the  chimney,  under  which  a  three- 
legged  iron  pot  looked  at  home  among  some 
smoldering  bits  of  peat.  The  smoke  was  circu- 
lating about  the  room,  the  floor  was  dirt,  and  I 
peered  about  to  find  a  bed.  This  I  discovered,  at 
an  arm's  length  from  me,  was  merely  a  pallet  of 
rags,  and  nestled  beside  it  two  tiny  kittens  !  As 
I  exclaimed,  the  mother  cat  came  out  of  the  bed, 
purring  as  happily  as  if  in  a  palace.  Mrs.  Shay 
entered  just  here,  evidently  anxious  to  get  me  out, 
and  I  was  glad  to  go,  after  a  glimpse  at  the 
ceiling  and  walls,  from  which  hung  small  stalac- 
tites of  smoke  deposit.  I  assure  you  that  it  is  my 
earnest  wish  that  never  again  shall  I  see  such  an 
evidence  of  a  creature  forgotton  by  humanity. 
"  I've  a  lot  of  childer  in  Ameriky,  but  they  niver 


IRISH  SCENES.  21 

writes  me  anny  more,"  she  wailed  out,  and  in  fact 
she  was  rather  misty  upon  the  subject  of  their 
whereabouts. 

A  short  drive  brought  us  to  Bantry,  which  was 
alive  with  people  on  the  qui  vive  to  see  all  there 
was  to  see.  The  women,  barefooted,  unkempt, 
and  with  big  circulars  thrown  about  them,  kept 
pace  with  the  men,  who  brandished  shillalies  and 
wore  a  green  leaf  in  their  hats,  or  a  green  ribbon 
in  their  button-holes. 

By  innocent  questions  I  got  a  variety  of  infor- 
mation from  the  different  people  standing  near  me. 

"  What  is  going  on  to-day  ?  "    I  asked  a  woman. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  they  are  going  to  thry  a  praste." 

"  Indeed  ;    for  what  cause  ?  " 

"Well,  Miss,"  she  answered,  with  rather  a 
perplexed  face,  "they  do  say  he  forbade  the 
young  gurrls  of  his  congregation  goin'  wid  the 
constabulary." 

"Why?"   I  innocently  asked. 

"  Oh  !  these  polacemen  can  dance  on  us  whin 
they  loike,  ye  see." 

Two  other  excited  women  were  in  such  a  state 
that  all  they  could  say  was  :  "  Won't  there  be  a 
ritin'  at  the  day  of  jidgment." 

Just  here  the  old  clergyman,  Mr.  Hopely,  gray 
*and  bowed  down  with  years,  quietly  approached 
the  court-room  door,  at  which  we  were  standing, 


22  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

under  the  care  of  a  sergeant  of  police.  As  he 
entered  the  door  a  young  clergyman  joined  him 
and  handed  him  a  note. 

The  large  square  in  which  the  court-house,  a 
queer-shaped  plaster  building,  was  situated  over- 
looked the  Bay  of  Bantry.*  All  streets  leading  into 
the  town  converged  here,  and  at  each  street  was 
placed  either  police,  marines  from  the  flag-ship 
Shannon,  then  in  port,  or  soldiers  from  the  garrison 
at  Cork.  The  first  attempt  to  pass  the  guard  was 
made  by  a  party  of  mounted  men.  They  were 
turned  back  and  told  to  dismount.  Then  came 
the  priest  in  a  cart  with  a  body-guard  of  mounted 
men  of  every  kind  and  description.  In  their  hats 
were  green  leaves,  and  the  foremost  held  a  green 
banner,  on  which  was  printed  "  No  Surrender." 
As  they  dashed  into  the  square,  the  people  waved 
and  hurrahed  ;  but  their  progress  was  stopped  by 
the  marines,  and  they  were  bid  dismount. 

Now,  since  I  went  to  this  trial  quite  unprej- 
udiced, with  a  desire  to  get  some  idea  of  the  state 
of  feeling  between  the  contending  parties  in  this 
ill-fated  country,  I  shall  tell  the  story  of  what 
happened  before  my  eyes. 

Just  after  the  advent  of  the  prisoner  we  were 
admitted    into  the  gallery  opposite  the  reporters' 

*  From  out  of  this  bay,  in  1850,  sailed  the  Great  Eastern,  with 
the  tirst  ocean  cable,  the  invention  of  which  created  a  new  era  in 
the  world  of   news. 


IRISH  SCENES. 


23 


gallery,  reserved  for  my  party.  It  was  about  the 
size  of  a  family  pew,  and  from  it  we  watched  the 
two  judges  enter,  and  then  the  plaintiff,  with 
witnesses  on  one  side  and  the  defendant  on  the 
other.  The  lawyer  for  the  defendant,  Mr.  Shinkwin 
(or,  as  the  journals  of  the  day  got  it,  Sherkwin 
and  Shirkwin ),  was 
very  busy  arranging 
his  papers,  and  his 
reverend  client  be- 
gan at  once  to  hob- 
nob with  him  and 
make  penciled  notes. 
Opposite  sat  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Hopely,  and  by 
him  two  ponce  ser- 
geants, his  witnesses, 
his  lawyer,  Crown 
Counsel  Ronan,  and 
the     local     solicitor.  JUST,CE  RocHE- 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated  a  few  people,  all  who 
could  be  seated,  say  one  hundred,  were  admitted. 
The  constabulary  were  numerous,  one  to  at  least 
every  five  persons  present. 

As  soon  as  the  case  was  called  Mr.  Shinkwin 
complained  that  all  Father  Crowley's  witnesses 
had  not  been  admitted. 

Justice   Roche  said    if   he  would  give  a   list  of 


24 


AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 


those  missing  they  should  be  admitted,  but  that 
the  peace  of  this  trial  should  not  be  broken  by 
men  who  desired  to  ride 
nto  court  on  horseback. 
At  this  Mr.  Shinkwin  sat 
down,  giving  no  list. 

Mr.  Ronan  now  pre- 
sented the  case  in  terse 
language.  He  was  a  pale- 
faced,  wiry  man  and  more 
than  a  match  for  Mr. 
Shinkwin. 

The     trouble     had    all 

During  Cross-examination.      arisen     from      bad     whisky, 

to  wit:  A  man  named  Bagley,  having  been  evicted, 

erected  a  hut  on  a  piece  of  land  belonging  to  the 

Established    Church, 

opposite  the  Rev.  Mr. 

Hopely's  parsonage. 

On    this    same     piece  ?m 

lived    a    man    named 

Dunovan,    who    drank 

and    was    worthless. 

Upon    returning     one 

day  from  church,  Mr. 

Hopely  was  approach-  LlsTEN1NO  T0  testimony. 

ed    on    the    high-road   by   this    man,    who,    being 

wild    with    drink,    flourished    a     whip     over     his 


IRISH  SCENES. 


25 


head,  and  was  restrained  fortunately  from  any 
violent  act  by  a  sergeant  who  was  coming 
down  the  road,  taken  to  the  lockup  and  held 
for  trial. 

Strange  to  say,  and  perhaps  not  so  strange 
either,  having  always  lived  at  peace  with  Mr. 
Hopely,  who  was  his  pastor,  he  called  him,  along 


Antique  Prisoners'   Dock  in   Ban-try  Court  House. 

with  Sergeant  Ross,  as  a  witness  for  him.  Being 
duly  sworn  to  "tell  the  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,"  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hopely  and  Sergeant 
Ross  gave  their  statement  of  the  case.  As  a  result 
Dunovan  was  fined  five  shillings,  or  sentenced  to 
jail  for  one  week.  He  chose  the  latter.  When 
this  became  known,  Father  Crowley  took  up  the 
case,  and  for  three  Sundays,  after  mass,  made 
speeches,  in  which  he  was  reported  to  have 
used  incendiary  language  ;  and  for  this  he  was 
arrested. 


26 


AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 


Not  a   Kerry  Beauty; 


A  week  before  this  the  case  had  been  called 
for  trial  in  Goleen  ;  but  so  great  was  the  disturb- 
ance raised  by  Father  Crowley's 
friends,  in  the  court-room,  that 
it  was  decided  best  to  adjourn 
it,  removing  the  trial  from  that 
district  to  Bantry.  Hence  the 
precautions  to  guard  each  ave- 
nue of  entrance  into  Bantry 
Square  which  I  have  mentioned. 
While  the  witnesses  were  on 
the  stand  I  occupied  myself  in  observing  the 
audience.  It  was  at  first  a  picture  of  animation, 
consisting  of  a  fair  proportion  of  both  sexes.  I 
thought  they  had  come 
with  a  purpose,  so  de- 
termined were  they  to 
get  in,  and  so  they 
had,  for  as  soon  as  the 
novelty  of  the  situa- 
tion began  to  wane,  the 
day  being  warm,  most 
of  them  settled  down 
for  a  nap.  Our  artist, 
with    a    quick    pen, 

,,,.,,,  A   Dream, 

sketched  at  will, — they 

being    none    the    wiser, —  beginning   with    Judge 

Roche,  she  took  in  the  prisoner's  dock  en  passant, 


IRISH  SCENES.  •  27 

and  finished  with  some  of  the  sleeping  beauties 
forninst  the  wall.  The  women's  heads  were  mostly 
hooded.  I  felt  sorry  for  thein  faces  that  they 
could  not  cover  with  hair ;  but  why  should  I, 
when  their  husbands  exposed  all  the  upper  lip 
they  could,  while  they  covered  iheir  cheeks  and 
throats  with  "County  Antrims"  and  "Galloways." 

It  was  truly  the  occasion  of  my  life  for  the 
study  of  physiognomy,  since  no  greater  contrast 
could  be  imagined  than  existed  between  the  faces 
of  the  handsome  and  dignified  judge  and  those 
in  the  audience.  And  yet  the  sajne  blood  flowed 
in  their  veins,  they  were  of  the  same  religious 
faith — in  fact,  they  were  all  Irish. 

While  these  thoughts  and  many  more — which  I 
will  not  mention,  since  they  might  be  misunder- 
stood— were  passing  through  my  mind,  a  number 
of  witnesses  had  been  examined  and  cross- 
examined,  and  the  testimony  they  gave  did  not 
tend  to  raise  one's  opinion  of  the  young  and 
well-fed  looking  priest  undergoing  trial. 

Crown  Counsel  Ronan,  while  the  other  side  had 
the  floor,  was  also  a  study.  He  yawned,  and 
fidgeted,  and  looked  bored  ;  but  the  moment  it 
was  his  turn  to  talk  he  was  alert,  and  in  every  way 
a  changed  man.  He  stood  with  both  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  part  of  the  time  with  one  foot  up  on 
a  bench,  and  in  this  undignified    attitude  seemed 


28  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

to  claim  the  attention  of  every  spectator.  The 
fact  was,  his  every  word  and  question  told,  and  yet 
he  seemed  perfectly  unconscious  of  how  clever 
he  was. 

The  lawyer  for  the  defense  was  choleric  to  a 
degree,  and  since  the  Court  was  not  allowed  a 
stenographer,  the  judge  had  to  write  all  the  testi- 
mony. This  delayed  his  questions,  and  made  him 
more  and  more  nervous,  until  his  brogue  made 
his  questions  almost  unintelligible.  He  succeeded 
in  getting  the  information  that  Father  Crowley 
had  made  three  most  unguarded  addresses  to  his 
congregation  after  service,  in  which  he  told  them, 
"  If  ye  get  a  measure  of  local  government,  no 
more  rent  will  have  to  be  paid  to  landlords,  agents, 
or  other  wild  animals,"  and  that  "when  Dunovan 
got  out  of  jail  he  would  become  a  Catholic,  and 
that  the  men,  women,  and  those  who  had  children, 
should  meet  him  on  his  return,  and  those  who 
failed  to  do  so,  might  as  well  leave  auld  Ireland 
and  go  live  in  Cape  Clear ;  "  and  he  added,  "  if 
we  can't  afford  a  brass  band,  I  will  buy  you  one 
thousand  tin  whistles  to  use  instead,  and  old 
Hopely  will  be  killed  of  fright." 

After  this,  and  a  great  deal  that  was  more 
incendiary,  had  been  testified  to,  and  which  Mr. 
Shinkwin  had  failed  to  overthrow  by  his  cross- 
questions,   the   Court    took  a  recess   of   an    hour. 


IRISH  SCENES.  29 

Mr.  Shinkwin  was  anxious  to  go  right  on,  and  said 
that  Mr.  Justice  Stevens  sat  recently  until  3  a.  m., 
to  which  Justice  Roche  replied,  "  Well,  we  don't 
intend  to  follow  his  example." 

It  was  now  3.30,  and  as  Court  went  in  at  12 
o'clock,  we  were  glad  enough  to  be  out  once  more 
in  the  pure  air  and  sunshine,  away  from  the  sight 
and  sound  of  brothers  disagreeing,  especially  in  a 
land  and  at  a  time  when  good-will  is  needed. 

After  an  informal  luncheon  at  the  hotel,  during 
which  we  met  the  Associate  Justice,  Major  Welsh, 
and  Crown  Counsel  Ronan,  we  went  up  through 
the  town  to  see  what  it  was  like.  From  the  hill, 
at  which  the  main  street  terminated,  we  could 
overlook  Bantry  Bay.  Close  at  hand  were  many 
mills.  I  asked  a  cottager,  near  by,  what  was  made 
in  them,  in  order  to  get  a  little  inside  her  door-sill 
to  see  the  quaint  and  clean  interior  of  her  house, 
and  she  replied,  "  They  makes  clots  (clothes)  and 
fryzes  (freizes)  in  them,  they  do."  Just  here,  the 
most  pitiful  specimen  of  humanity  I  ever  beheld 
approached.  A  mass  of  rags  and  tatters,  with 
long,  tangled  hair,  he  was  an  ideal  "  wild  man  of 
Borneo."  Of  course  I  asked  his  name,  and  she 
replied,  "  Jack  O'Leary,  they  calls  him  mostly." 
So,  I  suppose,  that  is  what  we  had  better  call 
him,  mostly. 


30  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '00. 

The  streets  swarmed  with  people,  as  they  would 
on  fair-day,  and  yet  no  one  in  the  crowd  seemed 
to  have  any  business  except  to  look  on. 

Again  we  go  winding  in  and  out  among  Bantry 
Bay  inlets  ;  *  again  we  pass  beneath  the  entranc- 
ing verdure  of  the  drive  through  the  grounds  of 
Roche's  Hotel,  near  Glengariffe  ;  and,  once  more, 
are  comfortably  dined  and  rested  in  the  hospitable 
Bellevue. 

Such  a  moon,  and  such  a  gradual  decline  of  day 
as  we  had  that  evening  !  As  soon  as  the  twilight 
died,  all  the  mountains  about  blazed  forth  with 
bonfires,  for  it  was  the  "  Eve  of  St.  John's." 
This  custom  is  a  remnant  of  the  fire-worshipers 
that  still  exists.  They  say,  "  If  your  cattle  can 
walk  through  the  fire  without  being  burned,  you 
will  have  good  luck  all  the  year." 

I  spent  the  evening  in  an  endeavor  to  explain 
the  whys  and  wherefores  of  our  American  politics 
and  customs  to  two  Devonshire  lads  off  here  for  a 
holiday.  One,  an  architect,  knew  dear  friends  of 
mine  in  Plymouth,  Devon,  and,  as  we  chatted,  I 
realized,  as  I  often  do,  how  very  small  our  big, 
round,  bustling  world  is  after  all,  and  how  many 
delightful  people  one  meets  during  a  holiday  like 
the  one  we  are  now  enjoying. 

*  This   drive   passes   under   the   one   wire   connecting   the   cable 
with  Dublin. 


LETTER     III. 

Killarney's    Lakes. 

A  Visit  to  Them  Under  Very  Pleasant  Circumstances — 
Guide  0 'Connor 's  Bubbling  Fun — The  Throng  of  Bare- 
footed Girls  who  Accompany  Visitors — Muckross  Abbey. 

Killarney,  June  27,  1890. 

It  was  not  my  intention  to  write  much  about 
Ireland,  but,  despite  all  that  has  been  written  and 
all  I  have  read  about  it,  Killarney  and  the  neigh- 
borhood have  been  a  perfect  revelation,  and  I 
anticipate  what  is  before  me  will  be  equally  new. 

It  has  been  said,  and  I  have  proved  the  truth 
of  the  saying,  that  the  drive  from  Bantry  via 
Glengariffe  to  Killarney  cannot  be  excelled.  The 
day  after  the  trial  at  Bantry,  amid  sunshine  and 
blue  skies,  we  left  Glengariffe.  As  we  were 
whirled  up  the  road  past  the  parsonage,  the 
rector  stood  at  the  gate  to  bid  us  Godspeed.  The 
coach  was  loaded  with  English  and  Americans. 
Our  four  sat  directly  behind  the  driver.  With 
him  was  a  Welshman  and  an  Englishman,  behind 
us  our  two  Devonshire  lads,  and    on   either   side 


32  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

of  them  a  Boston  man  ;  then  an  English  parson 
and  his  bride,  a  papa  and  three  daughters,  etc. 
The  parson  had  breakfasted  opposite  us  off  a 
goodly  supply  of  "  'am  and  heggs,"  the  national 
breakfast  stand-by,  and  a  pot  of  tea.  This  tea  is 
our  bete  noire.  After  it  is  boiled  as  black  as  ink, 
to  do  the  correct  thing  you  must  dilute  it  with 
boiling  water  and  hot  milk,  and  when  sufficient 
sugar  is  added,  I  am  sure  all  will  agree  with  me, 
it  is  neither  fit  for  man  or  beast.  Still  the  natives 
drink  and  apparently  enjoy  it  !  A  hunk  or  loaf, 
so  called  here,  of  bread,  eighteen  inches  around, 
is  placed  before  him,  and  off  this  he  hacks  pieces 
as  best  he  may.  His  toast  is  stone  cold  before 
he  gets  it,  and  butter  never  changes  color  or  shape 
when  pasted  on  it. 

Just  here  his  wife,  in  pink  gingham,  comes  in. 
We  shiver!  As  she  seats  herself  at  a  most  uncom- 
fortable distance  from  the  table,  to  imitate  him, 
she  says : 

"  Had — you — a — dip, — dear?" 

He — "  Yes  ;  a  very  jolly  dip." 

She— "Was— it— cold,— love  ? " 

He — "  No.  Not  a  bit.  I  only  saw  one  jelly- 
fish, and  that  was  dead." 

At  this  juncture  the  waiter  quiets  her  with  a 
twin  supply  to  that  of  her  husband,  and  we  silently 


KILLARNEY'S   LAKES.  33 

wonder  if  he  realized  the  jellyfish  was  like  himself, 
viz.,  soft. 

While  I  have  been  telling  you  of  our  companions 
our  coach  has  arrived,  after  various  turnings  and 
climbings,  on  a  steep  mountain  road,  below  the 
edge  of  which  yawns  a  terrible  gulf,  and  above 
which  tower  rocks.  Afar  on  the  highest  mountain 
lies  a  lake,  explored  only  by  those  who  can  climb 
to  it,  and  before  us  is  the  mouth  of  a  gruesome 
tunnel. 

The  coach  halts,  and  our  driver,  who  by  this 
time  has  proved  himself  most  tantalizing  with  his 
terrible  brogue  and  lack  of  aptitude  to  give  us 
any  information,  tells  us  he  will  wait  here  "tin 
minits."  At  the  roadside  is  a  miserable  thatched 
hut,  and  in  an  adjoining  part  we  discover  a  man, 
looking  more  like  a  gnome,  so  old,  weazened  and 
pale  was  his  face,  in  darkness,  save  what  light 
crept  in  at  the  very  small  opening.  He  was  seated 
before  a  loom,  and  as  we  stood  in  silence  before 
him  he  clamped  away  at  the  treadles,  never  chang- 
ing a  muscle. 

"  What  is  that — linen  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Flannel,  mum,"  was  the  answer. 

He  looked  as  if  a  "  hatti-sheriff "  had  been 
served  upon  him  by  fates  high  in  authority,  and 
because    he    was    the    first    unsolicitant    we    had 


34  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

encountered,  we  each  left  him  a  small  monetary 
remembrance. 

The  cry  "  To  coach  !  "  interrupted  our  visit,  and 
in  a  moment  more  we  were  within  the  tunnel.  It 
was  just  long  enough  to  be  dimly  lit  from  either 
end.  As  we  gazed  at  its  ceiling,  decorated  with 
ferns,  we  had  to  dodge  the  water  that  in  one  place 
fell  in  a  shower,  and  it  was  amusing  to  notice  how 
such  incidents  tended  to  increase  the  friendliness 
of  all  on  the  coach.  As  we  emerged,  a  rare  pano- 
rama was  spread  for  our  delectation.  Directly 
before  us,  distant  and  darkly  blue,  just  a  glimpse 
of  McGillicuddy  Reeks.  On  either  side  were  the 
lesser  hills  that  shut  in  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  and 
the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  and  to  our  left  Kenmare 
Bay,  with  its  pretty  town,  separated  from  us  by 
a  bridge. 

Our  driver  cut  a  dash  as  we  drew  up  before  the 
principal  hotel  ;  but,  being  warned  not  to  patron- 
ize it,  we  wandered  with  our  companions  down  its 
broadest  street,  which  ends  at  the  monastery. 
Here  they  investigated  its  salesroom  for  laces, 
while  our  four  returned  to  a  cleanly  little  shop 
kept  by  "  Mary  Ann,"  as  we  were  informed,  who 
in  just  a  jiffy  had  prepared  for  us  a  most  eatable 
luncheon. 

She  told  us  that  the  town  was  in  mourning  for 
a  young  man  just  dead,  who  was  much  beloved 


KILLARNEY' S   LAKES.  35 

and  was  to  have  been  married  in  a  month.  He 
had  left  a  fortune  of  fifteen  thousand  pounds. 

The  remainder  of  the  trip  to  Killarney  was 
full  of  interest,  although  we  left  all  sea  views 
behind  us. 

Not  far  from  Kenmare,  our  first  view  of  the 
lower  lake  was  obtained.  This  resembled  the  nar- 
rowest parts  of  the  St.  Lawrence  River  with  its 
many  islands.  Then  we  climbed  around  Manger- 
ton,  with  Lake  Cutane  to  our  right  by  way  of  vari- 
ety, and  after  many  tantalizing  glimpses  through 
the  dense  forests,  between  our  road  and  the  middle 
and  upper  lake,  we  reached  Muckross  Abbey 
Hotel. 

We  were  weary  enough  to  descend  here,  and 
would  have  done  so  had  not  our  trunks  been  in 
Killarney,  for  the  hotel  was  the  picture  of  neat- 
ness embowered  amid  roses  and  fuchsia  hedges, 
and,  after  a  rest  and  supper,  we  could  easily  have 
walked  to  the  Abbey,  instead  of  which  we  had 
to  return  there  from  Killarney,  a  distance  of 
two  miles. 

At  the  Lake  Side  Hotel  we  were  met  by  a 
motley  number  of  so-called  "touts,"  who  all 
yelled  at  once  a  plea  for  their  hotels.  But  our 
destination  was  predestined,  from  the  fact  that  the 
agent  of  the  Great  Southern  Railway,  Mr.  Mani- 
fold at  Queenstown,  had  transported  our  baggage, 


36  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

free  of  charge,  to  the  Railway  Hotel,  and  upon  our 
arrival  there  we  found  it  in  the  hall  to  welcome  us. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  come  after 
me  I  can  sincerely  recommend  this  hotel,  and  yet 
in  the  town  there  are  those  quite  as  clean,  less 
pretentious,  and  much  cheaper,  where  anyone 
would  be  made  comfortable,  among  them  the 
Ennisfallen  and  Palace. 

When  you  have  always  anticipated  having  a 
perfect  day  for  Killarney's  lakes,  it  is  rather  a 
damper  to  be  awakened,  on  the  morning  set  apart 
for  your  trip,  by  the  tap  of  rain  upon  your  window- 
pane.  With  a  heavy  heart  you  find  yourself  re- 
peating :  "  If  it  rains  before  seven  it  will  clear 
before  eleven."  And  sure  enough,  by  11.30  o'clock 
the  clouds  break  and  the  sun  comes  out. 

Let  me  remind  you  just  here  that  a  party  of 
four  or  six  can  see  the  lakes  for  about  seven 
shillings  apiece,  whereas  three  or  five  are  charged 
nine  shillings  each.  My  experience  was  that  the 
excursion  from  the  Railway  Hotel  was  perfectly 
managed,  and  yet  those  who  went  out  from  the 
Ennisfallen  Hotel  at  the  same  time  went  at  least 
one  dollar  cheaper. 

With  our  party  was  sent  a  guide,  James  O'Con- 
nor, as  intelligent,  droll,  quick-witted,  and  amus- 
ing an  Irishman  as  I  have  yet  met.  He  assured  us 
that  "when  the  mist  hung  on  the  mountains  'twas 


KILLARNEY'S  LAKES.  37 

a  sign  of  fair  weather,"  and  when  the  day,  at  the 
end  of  it,  was  pronounced  to  be  the  finest  in  all 
respects  for  the  excursion  they  had  had  this  sea- 
son, we  were  most  nattered,  and  felt  well  repaid 
for  the  exertion  it  cost  us. 

In  order  to  reach  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  our 
"  machine "  took  us  past  fine  estates,  around  the 
northern  and  down  the  western  shore  of  the 
upper  lake.  This  is  broad,  and  is  full  of  well- 
wooded  islands,  of  which  we  at  this  time  only  had 
glimpses.  Just  before  the  Gap  was  reached  we 
were  met  by  men  and  boys  on  ponies,  who  solic- 
ited our  patronage  for  a  ride  through  the  glen. 
The  fair  weather  beguiled  us  into  making  the 
three  miles,  more  probably  five,  on  foot,  which 
only  a  resident  of  Albany,  or  an  equally  hilly  town, 
could  do  with  impunity.  As  a  result  we  were 
painfully  reminded  of  all  sorts  of  unknown  mus- 
cles for  a  week  after,  in  our  down-sittings  and 
up-risings. 

The  refused  pony-men  were  supplemented  by 
girls  and  women  with  immense  yarn  socks  for  sale, 
and  they  looked  dumfounded  —  no,  incredulous 
rather,  for  they  never  ceased  to  talk — when  you 
said  : 

"Alas  !  I  have  no  husband  to  buy  socks  for." 

"Then  take  a  glass  of  goat's  milk  and  moun- 
tain-dew, me  butiful  leddy." 


38  AS    WE    SA  W  IT  IN  '90. 

"Is  it  called  poteen,  because  it's  put  in  ? "  we 
asked. 

"  Sure  'tis,  me  leddy." 

Barefooted  and  eager,  they  followed  our  wagon 
for  miles.  If  one  thing  failed  to  sell,  they  at  once 
tried  something  new. 

"  Buy  an  Irish  canary  that  pays  our  rint,  me 
leddy,  just  to  remember  '  Colleen  Bawn,'  shure,  or 
a  picture  of  meself,  if  ye  plaize." 

"  But  you're  not  '  Colleen  Bawn,'  "  I  replied. 

"  No,  I'm  not,  but  I'm  livin'  in  place  av  her," 
she  quickly  answered.  I  bought  the  picture  at 
once. 

At  Kate  Kearney's  cottage  we  were  solicited 
by  her  great-granddaughter,  aged  seventy,  to  buy 
pictures,  mountain-dew,  and  what  not.  Our  guide 
suggested  "That's  a  very  bad  kind  of  whisky  — 
when  you  can't  get  it,"  and  I  that  the  milk  was 
from  a  cow  and  not  a  goat. 

We  drank  to  the  health  and  success  of  our  party, 
O'Connor  adding,  in  his  whimsical  way,  "  May  you 
never  die,  until  the  skin  of  a  gooseberry  makes  a 
coffin  for  ye,  and  that  will  be  niver !  " 

Between  this  halt  and  the  entrance  to  the  Gap 
he  repeated  the  legend  of  "The  Colleen  Bawn," 
and  how  "  Daddy  Man,"  who  drowned  her,  was 
executed,  besides  playing  some  Irish  melodies  on 
a  cornet,  which  were  echoed  three  times  distinctly. 


KILLARNEY'S   LAKES.  39 

At  the  halt  we  find  the  inlaid-wood  shops  and 
manufactories  established  by  O'Connor's  father, 
now  ninety  years  old,  who  still  works  at  his  busi- 
ness. His  cheery-faced  sister  attends  to  this  shop, 
and  showed  us  some  most  expensive  pieces  of  fur- 
niture made  to  order  for  a  gentleman  in  Australia. 
The  arbutus  wood  grows  on  all  the  islands  in  the 
lakes,  and  this,  as  well  as  the  bog-oak  and  other 
colored  wood,  is  just  at  their  hand.  Altogether 
the  Gap  cottage  was  a  most  attractive  and  allur- 
ing place. 

Here  the  parties  from  different  hotels  dis- 
mounted, and,  with  the  guides  carrying  our 
wraps,  we  proceeded  up-hill  for  our  walk  through 
the  Gap. 

It  was  comparatively  an  easy  matter  for  us 
to  get  rid  of  the  persistent  natives,  but  several 
good-looking  men  were  besieged  by  Bridgets, 
Marys,  and  Ellens,  who  carried  socks  under  one 
arm,  and  a  bottle  of  milk  and  mountain-dew 
under  the  other.  Although  O'Connor  said  he 
would  tell  Father  Somebody  on  them,  they  fol- 
lowed still,  past  Cushvalley  Lough  —  in  the  bot- 
tom of  which  can  be  seen  on  a  clear  day  a  box 
containing  the  last  snake  killed  by  St.  Patrick  in 
Ireland — and  on  into  the  Black  Valley.  Here  we 
leave  the  road,  and  over  rocks  and  marsh,  finding 
glorious  bell-heather,  we  descend  into  its  heart. 


40  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

The  amphitheater  formed  by  the  hills  here  is  the 
grandest  I  have  ever  seen.  One  thatched  cottage 
alone,  of  which  our  artist  makes  a  water-color, 
detracts  from  the  solitude  of  the  place.  O'Connor 
makes  one  of  the  Sullivan  girls  say  "  Black  Val- 
ley" in  Irish — Cush-ma-duve  is  what  it  sounds  like 
— and  we  wish  among  the  group  of  girls  there  was 
one  fair  to  look  upon.  They  are  strongly  built, 
but  outside  of  honest  blue  eyes,  they  have  tawny 
complexions,  snub  noses,  and  straight  and  often 
short  hair.  Then  when  they  smile,  the  worst 
comes  to  view.  Such  teeth  !  and  if  perfect  teeth, 
such  dirty  ones  !  It's  all  very  well  for  novelists  to 
tell  of  rustic  beauties  with  pearly  teeth  and  ruby 
pi.  If  there  were  such  ever  in  existence,  they 
have  long  since  gone  where  their  faces  were  their 
fortunes,  leaving  their  plainer  and  more  honest 
sisters  to  wear  short  petticoats  and  show  brown 
ankles  and  bare  feet. 

They  seem  quite  as  unaware  of  their  accent  as 
a  Bon  Silene  does  of  its  perfume,  and  if  you  imitate 
them  they  are  vastly  amused  at  your  failure. 

By  degrees  we  reach  the  gate,  beyond  which 
they  cannot  go,  and  here  their  persistence  is 
appalling. 

"  Just  another  glass  of  poteen  to  remember  your 
swate  smilin'  face,  me  leddy,"  they  urge. 

To    a    rather   stout   and    good-natured    Boston 


KILLARNEY'S   LAKES.  41 

physician  one  of  them  says  :  "  Take  another  glass, 
sir.  You're  a  nice  stout  gintleman,  and  I  shan't  for- 
get yez."     And  thus  they  persist  to  the  bitter  end. 

After  the  privilege  of  walking — price  one  shil- 
ling— through  some  lord  or  another's  grounds,  we 
come  out  upon  the  lower  lake,  which  we  had  seen 
first  the  day  of  our  arrival.  Here  four  men  await 
us  with  a  huge  row-boat,  and  as  it  is  three  o'clock 
the  sandwiches  sent  from  the  hotel  are  most 
refreshing. 

This  is  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  excursion,  as 
we  are  pulled  in  and  out  among  these  beautiful 
islands,  while  O'Connor  relates  a  legend  of  this 
or  that  one,  or  plays  under  Eagle's  Nest  "  The 
Star  Spangled  Banner,"  which  echoes  and  re- 
echoes for  our  pleasure. 

Before  we  go  into  the  middle  lake,  which  is 
only  a  connecting  link  between  the  upper  and 
lower  lakes,  our  boatmen  pull  up  at  a  rock,  and 
from  it  we  see  three  openings. 

"  Now,  guess  which  is  the  right  channel  out 
of  this  basin,"  they  say. 

Only  one,  a  Rochester  man,  guesses  correctly, 
and  he  chooses  a  different  part  from  that  to  which 
they  have  directed  our  attention. 

O'Connor  gets  the  oldest  boatman  quite  riled, 
saying :  "  Now,  Mick,  you  must  pay"  for  the 
drinks." 


42  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  Faith,  I  won't,"  he  replies. 

"  Oh,  that's  because  you're  a  soured  auld  bach- 
elor," says  O'Connor  in  reply. 

As  we  drifted  on  toward  the  "  meeting  of  the 
waters "  and  the  Weir  Bridge,  the  oldest  in  Ire- 
land, where  the  boat  goes  through  the  rapids, 
O'Connor  sings  a  weird  Irish  drinking  song,  and 
the  boatmen  join  in  the  chorus,  the  wail  of  which 
will  hang  by  us  for  many  a  day.       * 

The  excitement  of  doing  the  rapids  and  the 
entrance  into  the  upper  and  largest  lake  being 
over,  we  are  shown  a  house  where  the  Queen 
lunched  when  here. 

"  Mick  "  informs  us  he  was  one  of  the  men  to 
row  her  that  day. 

"  It  was  just  afther  me  returnin'  from  Ameriky." 

"  Did  you  run  away  for  fear  of  the  War,  Mick 
Thornton?"  says  O'Connor. 

"  Faith,  I  wish  I  had  not,  because  now  I  might 
be  a  captain  or  phat  not,  if  I  had  remained," 
replies  Mick,  begging  the  question. 

As  we  glide  up  this  grand  lake  in  the  most 
perfect  weather,  each  peak  that  surrounds  it 
stands  out  in  individual  glory,  and  our  heads 
fairly  swim  with  the  legends  of  O'Donohue's 
exploits  hither  and  yon,  of  how  the  devil  drinks 
out  of  his  punch-bowl  each  Christmas  eve  on 
one  mountain,  and  of   how  seven  white  mice  on 


KILLARNEY'S  LAKES.  43 

beautiful  Ennisfallen,  Killarney's  rarest  isle,  can 
be  seen  every  Sunday  after  mass,  until  we  say  in 
chorus  :  "  Mr.  O'Connor,  do  you  never  tire  telling 
all  this?" 

"Yes,  sometimes,"  he  answers.  "When  I  have 
stupid  people,  I  am  so  tired  that  I'd  like  to  die — 
if  I  was  prepared,"  he  answers,  with  a  gleam  in 
his  honest  blue  eye  that  shows  he  will  be  capable 
of  much  enjoyment  still  to  come. 

"Where  is  the  devil  buried,  Mr.  O'Connor?"  I 
asked. 

"Buried  !"  he  exclaims  ;  "  in  hell,  I  suppose." 

"No,  I  am  referring  to  an  old  song  my  Irish 
nurse  used  to  sing  to  me  years  ago,"  I  answered. 
"  You  see  when  I  had  been  naughty  and  then 
became  good  again,  she  used  to  say  the  evil  one 
had  gone  out  of  me,  and  would  croon  to  me  an  old 
Irish  song — 

'  Humph  la  !  the  divil  is  dead, 

Humph  la  !  the  divil  is  dead, 

Humph  la  !  the  divil  is  dead, 

And  buried  in  Killarney.'  " 

"  Well,  Miss,"  he  laughingly  replies,  "  faith  I 
niver  thought  of  that  before,  altho'  I've  known 
the  old  song  all  my  life.  I  think  I'll  have  to  inves- 
tigate the  matter  for  future  tourists.  It  certainly 
will  be  a  new  thing  to  tell,  and  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you  for  the  suggestion." 


44  A  S    WE    SA  IV  IT  IN  '90. 

Here  we  have  our  last  Irish  song,  which  shouts 
back  at  us  from  the  ruined  walls  of  Ross  Castle, 
Cromwell's  last  capture.  Our  boatmen  pull  for  us 
white  water-lilies,  with  which  the  lake  is  clothed 
here,  arranging  them  daintily  on  a  lily-pad  and 
tying  the  stems  into  a  true  lover.'s  knot.  We  are, 
I  assure  you,  so  full  of  all  we  have  seen  and  of 
happiness  at  our  perfect  day,  that  O'Donohue's 
library  in  the  rocks,  which  we  had  expected  to  be 
agape  over,  seems  a  very  small  part  after  all  that 
has  gone  before. 

On  Ross  Island  we  disembark,  and,  after  a  visit 
to  the  castle,  we  are  driven  home.  En  route 
O'Connor  tells  us  about  Puck  Fair,  held  on  every 
eleventh  of  August  at  Killorglin,  about  thirty 
miles  from  Killarney.  Here  girls  go  to  be  hired, 
and  the  sensation  of  the  hour  is  to  dress  up  a 
goat  and  put  it  on  the  tower  of  an  old  castle.  He 
told  us  the  village  priest  could  be  seen  at  the  fair, 
of  course,  and  that  on  one  instance  he  said  to 
a  former  servant:  "Where  be  ye  livin'  now?" 
"  Sure,  your  riverence,  I  ain't  livin'  at  all,  at  all — 
I'm  married,"  says  she.  We  laugh  heartily,  of 
course,  over  this,  despite  having  heard  it  before. 

"  The  young  bucks  have  their  fun,  too,"  he  adds. 
"  One  time  coming  home  they  sang  such  a  chorus 
to  their  song,  it  actually  shook  the  handle  off  the 
pump  on  the  roadside." 


KILLARNEY'S  LAKES.  45 

Near  the  town  he  shows  us  the  house  where 
once  lived  Jeffrey  Lynch,  who  cruelly  evicted  his 
master's  tenants.  Failing  to  pay  his  own  rent,  he 
was  evicted,  too,  and  at  this  he  went  over  to 
America.  Failing  in  that  country,  he  returned 
home  to  die.  From  both  Heaven  and  Purgatory 
he  was  said  to  be  turned  away  when  it  was  dis- 
covered what  his  record  was  on  earth,  and  at  last 
he  went  down  to  the  nether  regions,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  Satan  said  to  his  demand  for  entrance 
there  :  "  Whist,  go  away,  Jeffrey  Lynch,  if  I  was 
to  let  you  in  here  you'd  evict  all  me  tinnents." 

Just  a  word  about  Muckross  Abbey.  After 
seeing  all  the  grandest  ruined  fabrics  of  which  old 
England  can  boast  to-day,  I  was  amazed  to  come 
upon  anything  so  exquisite  as  this.  The  "  care- 
taker," or  guardian,  has  been  twelve  years  there, 
being  paid  by  the  gentleman  on  whose  estate  it  is, 
and  no  doubt  his  ruin,  for  entrance  to  which  we 
all  paid  one  shilling  each,  is  a  better  inheritance 
than  all  his  land.  Mr.  Moriarty  let  us  wander  at 
sweet  will  into  all  its  quaint  nooks  and  corners, 
as  he  followed  at  a  respectful  distance. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  he  asked  as  we 
descended  to  the  exit. 

"  From  America,"  we  answered. 

"  Faith,  and  I  was  sure  you  were  not  Irish.     No 


46  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN   '90. 

one  over  here  would  see  so  much.  You've  been 
in  corners  no  one  ever  finds." 

He  had  photographs  for  sale  instead  of  taking  a 
fee,  and  confessed,  after  so  long  a  service,  this  was 
the  first  year  he  had  been  in  that  trade.  This  was 
a  striking  illustration  of  the  lack  of  forehandedness 
of  his  race. 

Lord  Kenmare  has  the  most  extensive  demesnes 
here.  For  the  privilege  of  entrance  he  charges 
sixpence  each.  You,  of  course,  expect  to  see  the 
new  castle,  he  mortgaged  all  he  had  to  build  in 
order  that  his  spouse  .should  be  gratified  ;  but 
no,  upon  approaching  the  house  you  are  charged 
sixpence  more  to  go  on  the  terrace  only.  In  our 
case,  after  a  very  long  walk  to  the  house,  we  were 
informed  that  his  lordship  was  going  in  to  dinner. 
"  Didn't  we  hear  the  bell  just  after  ringing  ? "  We 
had  heard  what  had  sounded  like  a  locomotive 
bell,  and  so  we  were  turned  back.  Not  even  a  fee 
would  soften  the  heart  of  the  huge  Irishman  who 
stood  as  a  bulldog  in  our  way,  we  were  informed 
on  our  tickets.  But  meeting  him  the  next  day,  he 
slyly  confessed  "a  fee  might  have  done  some 
good." 

We  concluded  at  this  to  take  even  the  printed 
tickets  cum  grano  salis,  when  we  had  an  object  to 
accomplish    in    Ireland.      As  it  happened  we  saw 


KILLARNEY'S  LAKES.  47 

the  house  from,  several  directions  after  that  and 
were  glad  we  kept  our  sixpence. 

The  moral  to  this  trip  is,  if  ever  you  are  at 
Killarney — and  I  sincerely  trust  you  may  have 
that  rare  good  fortune — pray  for  fair  weather  and 
O'Connor  for  guide. 


LETTER     IV. 
Sights    in    Ireland. 

The  Home  at  Youghal  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh — An  I)iter- 
esting  Old  Church —  The  Trip  Up  the  Blackwater  and  a 
Visit  to  a  Cistercian  Monastery. 

Mallow,  Ireland,  June  29,  1890. 
As  we  persevere  in  our  investigation  of  the 
beauties  of  Irish  scenery,  no  exclamation  seems 
better  suited  to  our  state  of  mind  than  that  used 
by  Alice  in  Wonderland,  "  Curiouser  and  curi- 
ouser " !  In  the  first  place,  rain  precedes  us 
everywhere,  laying  the  dust,  which  is  fortunate 
for  our  sight-seeing  proclivities.  It  knows  enough 
to  keep  out  of  our  way,  you  see,  and  when  we 
are  told  "it  has  been  raining  up  to  date,"  we 
reply  with  assurance :  "  Look  out  for  pleasant 
weather  now  we  are  here,"  and,  sure  enough,  Old 
Sol  beams  upon  us,  as  the  wind,  his  enemy, 
blows  hard  in  the  face  of  the  clouds  that  some- 
times lounge  across  the  heavens,  until  they  get 
black  in  the  face,  burst,  and  disappear.  Still  it 
is   very   cold.      Heavy    flannels,   fur-lined   wraps, 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  49 

even  seal-skins,  can  be  worn  with  comfort,  and 
so  far  we  have  had  weather  in  contrast  to  that 
reported  in  America. 

We  buy  the  daily  papers  in  hopes  of  getting 
American  news.  The  dispatches  in  them,  how- 
ever, are  not  worth  the  price,  since  they  are 
generally  of  a  sporting  nature,  or  too  exaggerated 
to  be  believed.  For  instance,  "  Chicago  has  had 
such  hot  weather  that  the  people,  and  horses 
especially,  dropped  by  the  hundreds  in  the  streets. 
Not  having  enough  ambulances  to  carry  the  dead 
away,  an  epidemic  of  typhoid  fever  was  raging." 
This  all  in  one  day !  Experience  has,  therefore, 
caused  me  to  cease  to  wonder  at  the  ignorance 
about  our  country  shown  by  really  cultivated 
people  in  Great  Britain.  If  the  papers  would 
print  more  general  news  regarding  the  world  at 
large  and  less  about  the  murders  and  general 
wickedness  in  this  or  that  country,  the  people, 
like  quarrelsome  children,  would  have  their  minds 
diverted  to  some  purpose  and  filled  with  useful 
information,  which  could  not  but  tend  to  broaden 
their  naturally  cramped  intellects. 

In  Youghal  we  found  plenty  to  interest  us.  Its 
patron  saint  may  be  called  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  since 
he  lived  here  and  in  its  neighborhood  for  years. 
And  yet  a  few  miles  off  no  one  could  tell  us  about 
this  picturesque  town,  except  that  it  was  a  water- 


50  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

ing-place  and  was  recommended  ".as  a  pleasant 
excursion  from  Queenstown  or  Cork."  Fortu- 
nately we  had  enough  originality  to  discover  it 
led  to  much  that  was  very  interesting  beyond. 
Hence  I  write  to  tell  you  about  it. 

In  the  first  place,  I  could  make  money  on  its 
name  at  only  a  cent  a  guess  as  to  how  it  is  pro- 
nounced.    Now  try. 

You-ghal  ?     No  ! 

Youg-hal  ?     No  ! 

Yough-al  ?     No  ! 

"  Well,  how  ?  "  I  hear  you  ask.  Simply  "  Yawl," 
and  nothing  more.  This  I  discovered  when  I  tried 
to  buy  my  ticket  to  it  from  Killarney.  It  is  the 
swell  southern  watering-place  of  Ireland  and  on 
its  "strand,"  not  beach,  can  be  seen  "mashers," 
and  humanity  of  all  kinds. 

This  strand  lies  directly  opposite  the  station, 
and  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  found  it 
occupied  by  the  visiting  swells,  among  which  a 
u  masher,"  as  they  denominate  a  "  dude "  over 
here,  stood  out  prominently,  dressed  in  everything 
that  was  loud  and  new.  The  women,  with  much- 
frizzled  bangs,  wear  very  small  white  sailor  hats, 
set  so  high  on  the  head  that  we  have  longed  for 
one  to  blow  off  in  order  to  see  if  what  held  it 
at  such  an  absurd  distance  from  the  head  was 
a.   mat   or    something    else.      They    walk    with   a 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  51 

mincing  gait,  aided  by  huge  crook-handled  sticks, 
and  behind  all  is  an  immense  bustle,  more  ele- 
gantly called  "  confusion,"  which  really  deforms 
them. 

Bridgets  and  Ellens  take  care  of  the  children, 
who,  with  spades  and  buckets,  amuse  themselves 
in  the  sand  or  ride  On  donkey  back,  while  their 
parents  are  bathing.  Bath-houses  form  a  back- 
ground, and  what  with  the  old  women  in  chairs 
being  drawn  along  the  beach  one  might  well 
imagine  herself  the  "gentle  reader"  in  one  of 
Dickens's  tales,  as  this  unconscious  procession  of 
humanity  drifts  by. 

Dinner  hour  being  near,  we  take  the  advice 
given  us  at  the  station  by  the  only  omnibus-driver 
there,  to  go  to  the  "  Devonshire  Arms."  Woe  is 
me,  that  we  did  !  Kindness  was  no  name  for  the 
hostess,  and  the  hotel  had  a  fine  and  prominent 
situation  in  the  principal  square,  surrounded  by 
curious  old  houses ;  but  hostesses  and  houses 
did  not  make  honors  easy  in  this  case,  for  the  beds 
were  most  unsatisfactory,  and  the  entire  place 
one  to  be  avoided.  Suffice  to  say,  after  dinner, 
such  as  it  was,  we  went  out  for  a  stroll,  and  dis- 
covered in  the  main  avenue  the  "  Green  Park 
Hotel,"  as  neat  as  a  pin,  charmingly  situated 
upon  a  bluff  overlooking  the  sea.  About  the 
park  from  which    it    gets   its    name    runs    a    high 


52  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

sea-wall,  massive  in  construction,  about  which 
one  may  walk  while  obtaining  views  of  sea  and 
river. 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  harbor,  made  by 
the  Blackwater  which  empties  here,  was  alive  with 
fishing-craft  of  various  kinds. 

Nearly  a  mile  away,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
harbor,  we  could  see  forninst  us  the  County  Water- 
ford  strand,  and  had  it  only  been  a  little  earlier, 
would  have  ferried  over,  just  for  fun,  to  see  how 
it  seemed  to  ride  that  distance  for  a  ha'penny, 
this  being  the  fare  we  were  told  by  sbme  boys  at 
play  on  the  wall.  From  here  we  go  down  on  to 
the  strand  and  gather  sea-weeds,  shells  and  what 
not.  The  incoming  tide  is  sweet  with  sea-odors, 
and  there  is  a  fascination  about  a  new  moon  that 
should  put  a  spirit  of  romance  in  any  one. 

Our  homeward  (home-ward  is  good  !  If  you 
could  only  have  seen  the  Devilshire  Arms,  as  we 
nicknamed  it)  way  was  up  the  main  avenue,  which 
wanders  in  a  most  original  manner  through  the 
town  for  about  one  mile.  As  far  as  our  square 
it  was  kept  in  order  by  rows  of  the  grandest  elms 
imaginable.  These  ceasing,  the  square  is  entered 
by  a  jog  in  the  road.  It  is  alive  with  people,  and 
many  women,  with  oriental-looking  jugs  on  their 
heads,  are  standing  about  the  town-pump  to  await 
their  turn. 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  53 

Further  than  our  hotel  we  were  too  done-up  to 
investigate,  and  nothing  but  tired  brains  and 
weary  bodies  ever  enabled  us  to  forget  we  were 
not  on  beds  of  flowery  ease  the  livelong  night. 

To-day  we  have  had  a  great  treat  in  more  ways 
than  one.  In  the  morning  we  went  on  to  inves- 
tigate the  street  of  Youghal,  and,  after  many 
questions,  found  following  our  noses  the  best  plan. 
This  brought  us  to  the  Clock  Tower,  a  quaint, 
four-storied  brick  period  in  the  street,  surmounted 
by  a  cupola.  So  we  went  under  it  and  came  to 
a  ruined  tower  which  attracted  our  attention  by 
its  massive  front.  This  is  used  as  a  flour-mill, 
and  as  we  ask  permission  to  climb  an  unused  pair 
of  stairs,  half  covered  with  chaff  and  other  refuse, 
the  miller  smiles  and  says:  "Yez  air  the  furst 
payple  that  iver  went  up  thim  stips  since  I  had 
the  mill,  I  can  tell  yez.  Indade  yez  may  do  so, 
for  the  view  will  repay  yez."  And  indeed  it  did. 
From  it  we  got  our  bearings,  and  by  his  help,  for 
he  had  followed  us,  his  face  aglow  with  curiosity 
and  good  nature,  we  saw  from  one  side,  first  the 
sea,  then  the  harbor,  and  then  the  Blackwater, 
a  river  we  were  to  explore  on  the  morrow,  the 
"Rhine  of  Ireland,"  he  told  us.  Crossing  to  the 
north  and  west  sides  of  the  tower,  the  town,  with 
a  garrisoned  hill  behind  it  and  here  and  there 
bits  of  the  ancient  wall,  lay  bathed  in  the  glow  of 


54  AS    WE  SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  sun.  At  its  feet  was  the  ancient  church, 
amid  grand  old  trees,  and  quite  close  to  it 
Raleigh's  house,  Myrtle  Grove.  Tuppence  ha'- 
penny (five  cents)  more  than  satisfied  our  floury 
friend,  and  even  without  it,  we  felt  we  were 
enough  of  an  oddity  to  have  afforded  him  genuine 
amusement. 

The  streets  —  one  of  them,  Friar  street,  for- 
merly called  "  Hell  " — were  full  of  excursionists 
from  Cork,  and  I  wondered  at  the  poor  display 
made  by  the  shops.  There  was  actually  nothing 
to  tempt  one  excepting  Pears's  soap,  advertised 
for  four  pence  ha'penny,  when  it  always  sells 
for  sixpence. 

We  gazed  long  and  furtively  at  an  Irishman 
in  a  shop,  as  we  stood  before  its  windows  filled 
with  pipes  and  tobacco.  He  was  a  picture,  as  he 
sat  on  a  barrel  swinging  his  legs,  which  were 
encased  in  the  tightest  of  tight  linen  trousers. 
His  vest  was  red,  his  coat  drab,  and  on  his  head 
was  a  hat  the  diameter  of  an  ordinary  stove-pipe, 
brimless  by  nature  and  black  in  color.  In  his  idle 
hands  he  swung  a  "broth  of  a  sthick,"  while  a 
pipe  occupied  his  mouth.  Whence  he  came,  or 
whither  he  tended,  we  shall  never  know  ;  but 
he  was  an  ideal  reprsentative  of  the  "  Paddy  from 
Ireland,  Paddy  from  Cork "  of  the  song  of  our 
childhood. 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  55 

The  street  was  full  of  genre  pictures,  and  we 
snapped  our  memory's  camera  at  them,  in  the 
hope  of  retaining  some  for  future  use. 

At  last  the  ancient  Church  of  St.  Mary's  was 
reached.  Here  the  sexton's  wife  went  about  with 
us,  giving  an  intelligent  account  of  the  800-year- 
old  pulpit  and  font,  showing  where  the  Irish  oak 
roof  had  been  discovered  amid  a  mass  of  Reforma- 
tion plaster  and  whitewash.  She  let  us  take  our 
time  among  the  antique  tombs,  and  their  nearly 
obliterated  inscriptions  she  patiently  aided  us  to 
decipher,  when  we  manifested  real  interest.  In 
the  town  we  had  inquired,  but  in  vain,  for  a 
guide-book,  and  hence  we  fully  appreciated  Mrs. 
Hayes's  intelligence. 

The  church  forms  a  Latin  cross,  and  in  the 
angle  of  the  north  aisle  and  north  transept  was 
built  a  massive  square  tower  at  least  fifty  feet  high. 
She  told  us  the  bases  of  the  arches  rested  on  the 
stone  coffin-lids  of  some  eighth  century  inhabitants 
of  that  part  of  the  country,  and  that  the  pointed 
style  of  its  architecture  placed  the  building  of 
the  present  edifice  in  the  thirteenth  century.  The 
choir  contains  the  largest  window  in  Ireland,  filled 
with  modern  and  yet  most  beautiful  stained  glass, 
representing  the  coats-of-arms  of  its  ancient 
patrons,  among  them,  on  a  red  shield,  the  five 
white  diamonds  of  the   house  of    Raleigh.     This 


56  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

stood  roofless  for  three  hundred  years,  being  only 
restored  some  thirty  odd  years  ago,  and  I  honored 
the  people  who  appreciated  so  rare  and  interesting 
a  piece  of  architecture,  enough  to  make  it  again  a 
place  of  worship. 

In  a  side  chapel  were  many  old  tombs,  among 
them  that  of  Sir  Edward  Villiers,  Lord  President 
of  Munster  for  many  years.  It  was  dated,  "  Anno 
Dom.  1600,"  and  upon  its  face  was  the  following  : 

Munster  may  curse  (quite  defaced) 
The  time  that  Villiers  came 
To  make  us  worse, 
By  leavinge  (sic)  such  a  name. 
Of  noble  parts 
As  none  can  imitate 
But  those  whose  hearts  (sic) 
„    Are  married  to  the  state. 
But  if  they  presse  (sic) 
To  imitate  his  fame, 
Munster  may  blesse  (sic) 
The  time  that  Villiers  came." 

Opposite  this  plain  sarcophagus  was  the  gaudily 
painted  and  amusing  tomb  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Cork.  It  reaches  from  floor  to  ceiling.  In  the 
center  is  the  Earl,  and  on  either  side  his  first  and 
second  wives.  Beneath  them  are  ten  little  off- 
springs, all  kneeling  with  folded  hands,  excepting 
one,  which  lies  down,  because  he  fell  into  a  well 
and  was  drowned.     Above  the  two  wives  are  the 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  57 

two  mothers-in-law  —  husbands  of  to-day  take 
notice — and  above  them  are  kneeling  angels,  and 
still  higher,  as  the  monument  gets  nearer  heaven, 
cherubs  !  Any  one  who  desires  a  detailed  account 
of  this  most  extraordinary  relic  of  antiquity,  can 
have  it  from  me  upon  application. 

This  church  by  right  holds  the  bones  of  the 
long-lived  Countess  of  Desmond,  who  must  have 
been  a  character  in  her  day.  She,  with  her  husband, 
helped  materially  in  reconstructing  the  church,  in 
1468,  with  money  from  an  indulgence  granted  by 
Pope  Paul  II.,  and,  after  living  for  one  hundred 
and  forty  years,  through  the  reigns  of  seven 
English  kings  and  queens,  she  fell  from  a  cherry- 
tree  and  broke  her  neck.  Moral  :  never  climb 
rees,  especially  after  you  become  a  century  plant. 

This  visit  puts  us  in  the  humor  to  enjoy  the 
sight  we  are  promised  on  the  morrow  of  some  of 
the  ruins  of  these  grand  people's  former  homes. 
Just  at  present  we  are  anticipating  much  pleasure 
from  a  visit  to  Sir  Walter's  house.  So,  bidding 
Mrs.  Hayes  a  substantial  good-bye  at  the  church- 
yard gate,  where  she  lives  in  the  lodge,  we  are  at 
once  in  front  of  the  high  green  gate  which  com- 
pletely hides  the  house  from  our  gaze.  A  red- 
cheeked  milkmaid  raps  in  vain,  and  finally  tells  us 
it  is  doubtful  if  we  get  admission,  as  a  party  of 
tourists  from  Cork  the  day  before  had  not  only 


58  AS    WE  SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

picked  flowers  in  the  garden,  but  actually  uprooted 
the  bushes.  This  caused  us  to  strengthen  our 
resolve  to  get  in,  and  just  here  a  neat  maid 
opened  the  gate.  To  our  demand  for  entrance, 
she  said  she  was  sure  the  family  who  lived  there 
would  not  allow  it.  But  the  milky  way  of  our 
companion  had  enabled  us  to  get  within  the  gate, 
and  we  told  her  to  say  we  were  Americans  and 
had  come  a  great  distance  to  see  the  house. 

As  she  neared  the  front  door  an  elderly  lady 
leaning  on  a  cane  came  out,  and  without  wait- 
ing for  the  maid  to  intercede  I  stepped  forward 
and  pleaded  my  case.  She  had  been  joined  by 
her  daughter,  and  at  once  they  gave  us  a  most 
charming  and  cordial  welcome,  explaining  that  the 
place  had  always  kept  open  doors  and  gates  to 
all  visitors  until  that  day.  When  we  saw  the  signs 
of  the  visiting  vandals,  we  were  glad  they  had 
been  Irish  people  and  not  Americans. 

We  were  taken  up  the  grand  old  stairs,  whose 
walls  were  lined  with  rare  prints  and  paintings  of 
Sir  Walter  or  scenes  from  his  career,  such  as  his 
grand  Elizabethan  cloak  act  and  his  being  show- 
ered by  his  servant  when  he  smoked  his  first  pipe 
on  his  return  from  America.  We  also  learned  our 
hostesses  were  the  mother  and  sister  of  Sir  John 
Pope-Hennessy,*  the  present  owner  of  the  mansion. 

*  Sir  John  Pope-Hennessy  has  just,  been  nominated  as  member  of 
Parliament  by  the  McCarthy  faction  as  representative  from  Kilkenny. 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  59 

The  library  in  which  Sir  Walter  wrote  invited 
our  attention,  especially  as  we  knew  Spenser  had 
visited  him  here,  and  no  doubt  written  some  of 
his  "  Faerie  Queen  "  within  these  very  walls. 

The  ceiling  and  walls  are  of  dark  Irish  oak 
cleverly  carved  and  paneled.  The  cabinets,  con- 
taining rare  old  books,  and  the  mantel-pieces  had 
over  them  mottoes  in  ancient  spelling  and  figures 
of  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity.  The  small-paned 
bow-windows,  which,  with  the  exception  of  one 
other  window,  lighted  the  room,  made  a  study 
for  an  artist. 

The  outside  of  the  house,  strange  to  say, 
resembles  in  form  and  style  of  pointed  windows 
the  home  he  came  from  in  Devonshire.  Yet  he 
bought  it,  as  is  supposed,  from  the  monks,  who 
once  inhabited  it,  and  perhaps  the  attraction  was 
its  resemblance  to  his  former  dwelling.  In  the 
rear  of  the  house,  which  is  long  and  shallow,  rise 
three  huge  chimneys  covered  with  ivy,  which  in 
this  part  of  the  world  does  its  best  to  hide  the 
defects  of  time  and  ravages  of  humanity.  With 
a  cordial  invitation  to  come  again,  we  at  last  bade 
adieu  to  the  two  gentlewomen  who  had  kindly 
entertained  us,  they  telling  us  the  name  of  Carew 
had  proven  an  open  sesame. 

To  the  town  we  descend  by  a  queer  and 
rambling   by-path  which  should    really   be   called 


60  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '9G. 

a  street.  Its  houses  were  a  study,  with  their 
round  and  painted  chiseled  doorways,  moulded 
corbels  and  mullions,  heraldic  badges,  friezes, 
drip-stones,  trefoiled  windows,  and  other  vestiges 
that  exist  in  abundance  to  prove  the  antiquity  of 
Youghal. 

After  all  this  it  is  wonderful  that  we  can  again 
lie  down  to  peaceful  slumbers.  Yet  such  is  the 
case,  and  it  seems  but  a  short  time,  until  the 
next  morning  we  find  ourselves  on  the  steamer 
that  is  to  take  us  up  the  river  to  Cappoquin. 

We  buy  third-class  tickets,  and  this  enables 
us  to  be  in  the  forward  part  of  the  craft  and 
throws  us  into  companionship  with  a  very  agree- 
able Irish  lady  who  has  a  guide-book. 

I  ask  her  where  she  bought  it,  and  she  replies, 
"  I  have  had  it  some  time,  and  I  think  it  is  out 
of  print,  but  if  you  will  accept  it  I  shall  be 
pleased,  as  I  know  the  river  by  heart."  This 
unexpected  piece  of  luck  enabled  us  to  enjoy  the 
ruins  which  nestle  on  either  hand,  and  just  enough 
excitement  was  created  by  a  brisk  shower,  which 
only  sprinkled  but  did  not  injure  us,  to  make 
the  trip  exhilarating. 

A    Welsh   gentlemen   became   interested    in    us, 

when  he  saw  the  shower  did  not  drive  us  below, 

.   and    we  were  able,  during   a   conversation    which 

followed,  to  convince  him  that   American  gentle- 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  61 

men  did  not  go  about  their  daily  vocations  armed 
with  either  a  shot-gun  or  a  brace  of  pistols,  as 
he  averred  they  did.  Being  interested  in  tin 
mines,  he  bemoaned  the  tax  he  feared  might,  in 
course  of  time,  be  put  on  such  ware,  and  he 
added  rather  emphatically  :  "  If  that  tax  does 
come,  we'll  go  over  to  America  and  make  it 
there  !  "  I  advised  him  to  do  so  by  all  means, 
saying  we  liked  nothing  better  than  a  man  who 
could  add  to  the  income  of  our  country,  rather 
than  one  who  became  dependent  upon  it. 

As  we  near  Cappoquin  the  river  is  more  pic- 
turesque. Before  us  is  Mount  Melleray,  to  which 
we  will  pay  a  visit  as  soon  as  we  land.  On  either 
side  we  have  the  counties  of  Cork  and  Kerry, 
and  beneath  us  as  romantic  a  stream  as  ever 
flowed  into  the  sea.  Spenser  calls  it  in  his  "  Faerie 
Queen  "  : 

"Swift  Awniduff,  which  of  the  English  man 
Is  calde  Blacke-water." 

He  knew  every  inch  of  it,  and  its  romances 
furnished  him  many  of  the  ideas  expressed  in 
his  wonderful  and  unmatched  poem.  We  confess 
we  have  been  impressed  by  its  legends,  and  yet 
how  very  dead  and  turned  to  clay  are  the  once 
powerful  families  that  enlivened  its  banks.  At 
Cappoquin  it  is  no  further  navigable  by  steamer, 
so   we    leave    our   craft,    and    after   arranging    to 


62  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

have  our  luggage  sent  to  the  station,  we  take  a 
jaunting-car.  We  only  had  our  choice  of  two, 
and  are  soon  on  our  way,  up,  up,  up — over  hill 
and  dale  to  the  Abbey  of  Mount  Melleray.  Here 
dwell  a  community  of  Cistercian  Monks  driven 
from  France  in  the  Revolution  of  1830.  We  are 
told  they  maintain  perpetual  silence,  and  are  sur- 
prised to  be  met  by  a  chatty  monk  at  the  door 
who  ushers  us  into  the  drawing-room.  He  then 
informs  us  "it  is,  being  Friday,  a  fast  day,  and 
that  we  must  not  expect  more  than  fish,  omelet, 
bread,  jams,  tea,  sherry,  port  or  stout  for  our 
luncheon."  We  answer,  "We  will  try  to  make  a 
meal  out  of  this,"  as  he  proceeds  to  give  us 
glimpses  into  the  corridors  belonging  to  the 
monks.  Then  he  takes  us  to  a  church,  where  a 
service  is  being  chanted,  and  leaving  us  up  in  the 
gallery  which  overlooks  the  garden,  but  from 
which  we  could  not  see  the  monks,  he  takes  my 
brother  and  the  Welshman  in  among  the  brethren. 
There  he  kept  them  till  after  dinner,  the  women 
visitors  dining  in  a  separate  room,  and  when  they 
met  us  again,  after  an  hour,  I  never  saw  two  more 
relieved-looking  men. 

Our  dinner  was  an  amusing  one.  Brother  Law- 
rence, assisted  by  the  driver  who  brought  us  up, 
set  the  dishes  on  the  table.  Not  a  sign  of  a 
woman    servant  was  there.     Then,  as  he  paused, 


SIGHTS  IN   IRELAND.  63 

one  of  our  party  at  the  head  of  the  table,  said  : 
"Will  you  ask  a  blessing?"  "No,  please  do  it 
yourself,"  he  replied.  We  bowed  our  heads  as 
she  said  :  "Oh,  Lord,  bless  this  food  to  our  use, 
and  us  to  Thy  service,  for  Christ's  sake,  Amen." 
Scarcely  was  she  through,  when  he  clasped  his 
hands  enthusiastically  and  said:  "Beautiful !  beau- 
tiful !  we  say  quite  the  same,"  and  hastily  repeated 
one  in  Latin.  This  made  quite  an  impression 
on  him,  as  well  as  on  the  Irish  women  at  the 
table  with  us. 

Our  forks  were  horn-handled  and  three-tined 
of  steel,  but  the  wine  was  of  the  very  best  quality, 
and  he  offered  it  freely. 

Afterwards,  during  a  walk  in  part  of  the  grounds 
where  we  were  allowed,  I  asked  him  about  their 
silence,  and  he  said  that  when  put  on  duty,  as  he 
was  at  present,  they  were  commanded  to  speak. 
We  passed  two  monks,  big,  fine-looking  men,  and 
he  said  they  were  the  librarian  and  music  master. 
Two  forlorn-looking  objects,  with  gowns  rolled 
up,  were  driving  pigs  down  a  lane  before  us. 

"  Why  are  those  monks  driving  pigs  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  For  penance,"  he  answered. 

"  Does  your  highest  brother  ever  drive  pigs, 
as  those  are  doing  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  replied,  rather  scornfully. 

M  Would  it  not  be  a  good  penance  ? "  I  continued. 


64  AS    IV E    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"Ah  !  there  are  other  penances  they  can  get  more 
suited  to  their  birth  and  breeding,"  he  replied. 

He  was  clever  and  jolly,  and  seemed  quite  of 
this  world,  with  his  beard,  moustache,  and  unton- 
sured  head.  He  took  whatever  we  chose  to  give 
him  for  dinner,  and  before  I  left  presented  me 
with  a  huge  bouquet,  picked  from  their  cemetery, 
of  the  most  antagonistic  flowers  that  grow,  begin- 
ning with  tiger-lilies  and  ending  with  the  pansy, 
as  a  souvenir  of  the  place. 

The  school  has  hundreds  of  pupils  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  for  which  they  charge  the 
modest  sum  of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars a  year.  School  had  closed  the  day  previous, 
and  the  theater,  where  a  farce  had  been  enacted, 
was  shown  us,  the  scenery  of  which  had  been 
painted  by  one  of  the  students.  Altogether,  I 
should  imagine  it  would  be  as  safe  a  place  to 
put  a  boy  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  as  could  be 
imagined,  and  we  shall  always  have  pleasant  and 
amusing  memories  of  our  visit  at  Mount  Melleray. 

From  its  height  we  went  again  into  Cappoquin, 
and  then,  by  advice  of  our  driver,  we  arranged  for 
our  luggage  to  go  by  train,  in  order  that  we  might 
drive  to  Lismore,  three  miles  distant.  Had  I  been 
able  to  get  the  least  information  upon  the  possi- 
bility of  going  from  Cappoquin  to  Mallow  by  rail, 
I  should  have  left  our  luggage  at  Mallow  on  our 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  65 

way  to  Youghal  from  Cork.  This  is  a  hint  for  any 
one  in  future  who  may  wish  to  make  the  trip  with 
hand-bags,  as  we  desired  to  do. 

The  drive  to  Lismore  was  all  our  Jehu  had  said 
it  would  be.  With  grand  estates  on  one  side  and 
the  Blackwater  on  the  other,  we  were  all  too  soon 
at  the  bridge  over  the  stream,  above  which  tow- 
ered the  Castle  of  Lismore,  one  of  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire's  many  residences.  Its  entrance  and 
court  reminded  us  of  Warwick,  so  perfectly  is  it 
preserved  and  kept  in  order,  and  we  obtained 
permission  to  enter  by  application  at  the  keeper's 
lodge.  He  was  an  Englishman,  and  as  we  waited 
for  admission,  I  asked  : 

"  Does  the  Duke  ever  come  here  ? " 

"  No,  me  leddy,  'e's  a  bit  groggy  in  'is  legs, 
and  caun't  get  habout  much,  you  see." 

"Who  will  inherit  this  when  the  Duke  dies?" 

"  Lord  'Artington,  but  'e  don't  take  much  hin- 
terest  in  hit ;  'e's  a  single  man,  you  see,  me  leddy." 

"Oh,  is  he?"  I  explained,  as  I  saw  the  house- 
keeper coming  towards  us  through  the  brass  peep- 
hole on  the  big  front  door.  "  A  single  lord  is  just 
what  I  am  looking  for.  So  I  think  I'll  give  the 
castle  a  thorough  investigation  while  here." 

"You  are  so  droll,  me  leddy,"  he  articulated, 
during  a  half  laugh.  "  Hi'm  sure  you're  not 
Hinglish,  you  know." 


66  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"No,  I  am  not,"  I  replied,  most  emphatically, 
"  I  am  an  American  species  of  the  genus  angel." 

The  round  of  the  castle  was  quite  like  that  of 
any  other,  except  that  from  the  bay-window  we 
saw  an  Irish  funeral  procession  crossing  the  bridge. 
This  window  nearly  made  one  of  the  English  kings 
of  old  famous,  viz. :  in  looking  down  from  its  dizzy 
height  into  the  swift  stream  below,  he  almost,  but 
not  quite,  fell  out. 

Can  you  fancy  a  funeral  procession  of  jaunt- 
ing-cars ?  They  couldn't  look  sad  ;  and  so,  but 
for  the  hearse  which  preceded,  we  should  have 
thought  it  a  wedding  jaunt. 

The  antique  corporation  sword  which  belongs 
in  the  empty  case  on  the  walls  of  the  old  church 
in  Youghal  is  here  ;  also  a  bishop's  crosier,  dug 
up  in  the  "year  one,"  for  all  I  can  remember, 
which  our  attendant  said  was  "very  rare." 

In  the  street,  on  our  way  to  the  station,  we  asked 
whose  funeral  procession  had  just  gone  by. 

"  Some  unmarried  person,  I  expect,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  is  the  natural  inquiry. 

"  Why,  didn't  yez  see  the  white  streamers  on  the 
driver's  hat  and  over  his  coat  ?  Well,  that's  a  sign 
the  corpse  was  single." 

We  took  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Lismore  town  on 
our  way  to  the  station.     This  took  us  through  its 


SIGHTS  IN  IRELAND.  67 

square,  containing  a  curious  sun-dial  and  fountain, 
and  past  an  old  church,  whose  graveyard  con- 
tained some  rare  old  tombs  with  curious  epitaphs. 
The  station  was  a  pretty  one,  and,  after  a  short 
wait,  we  were  whirled  off  to  Mallow. 

This  proved  to  be  a  forgotten  watering-place. 
The  old  spring  bubbles  three  hundred  gallons  per 
hour  of  just  as  drinkable  water  as  when  it  was 
fashionable,  but  the  drinkers,  where  were  they? 
The  care-taker,  a  forlorn  woman  of  asthmatic 
build,  tottered  down  to  the  well's  mouth  with  us, 
and  over  its  bubbling  contents  registered  a  vow, 
how  that  but  for  drinking  a  gallon  of  it  during 
every  night  she  long  ago  would  have  been  dead. 
I  drank  upon  her  recommendation  and  was  con- 
vinced that  at  least  it  was  cold  and  delicious. 

As  we  drove  back  to  the  hotel  in  a  jaunting- 
car,  whose  owner  was  the  personification  of  jollity, 
Lysaght's  old  rhyme  jogged  naturally  through  our 
heads  : 

"  Beauing,  belleing,  dancing,  arinking, 
Breaking  windows,  damning,  sinking, 
Ever  raking,  never  thinking, 
Live  the  Rakes  of  Mallow  " — 

or,  rather,  "  Died  the  Rakes  of  Mallow,"  as  we 
interpolated. 

Marsh  mallows  are  good,  but  Mallow  sans 
marsh,  even  with    a  well,   I    should    never   advise 


68  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

to  any  one  who  has  a  sharp  appetite.  The  only 
hotel  by  the  station  is  kept  by  a  very  polite  and 
meek-looking  man,  but  these  qualities  are  of  no 
value  when  one  has  a  lady  cook  and  gentleman 
butler.  The  latter  was  evidently  disgusted  because 
we  did  not  partake  of  his  table  d'hdte  dinner,  and, 
when  we  asked  for  toast  for  four,  brought  three 
pieces  very  small  and  very  thick.  When,  like 
Oliver,  we  asked  for  more,  he,  with  a  flourish  and 
by  the  aid  of  a  toast-rack — the  Evil  One's  inven- 
tion to  cool  toast — brought  hvo  pieces  more.  After 
consultation  we  begged  to  trouble  him  for  more, 
and  after  some  delay,  and  more  toast-rack  accom- 
paniment, he  dignifiedly  sauntered  in  with  two 
more  quarterings  of  partially  heated  bread.  This 
made  only  seven  small  pieces  for  four  hungry  peo- 
ple. After  we  had  all  urged  each  the  other  to 
take  the  toast,  one  of  us  troubled  his  majesty 
again.  By  this  time  he  looked  really  grieved  and, 
with  a  most  insufferable  air,  said  :  "  She  says  there 
is  no  more."  This  was  too  much  for  me.  I  rose 
to  the  occasion  and  proceeded  to  the  office. 
Result,  plenty  of  toast,  which  we  sit  and  eat, 
although  we  are  almost  too  full  of  laughter  by 
this  time  to  enjoy  it. 

When  I  came  into  the  coffee-room  in  the  even- 
ing to  write,  his  lordship  at  once  brought  me  a 
blotter,  ink  and  a  quill,  which  I  have  duly  used. 


LETTER    V. 

New  Tipperary. 

A  Visit  to  the  Settlement  of  the  Evicted  Tenants — Occupying 
O'Brien's  Old  Room —  The  Pottery  Business  at  Belleek — A 
Sailor  Guide  through  Derrys  Streets. 

Portrush,  Ireland,  July  3,  1890. 

To-morrow  I  am  to  pay  my  respects  to  Fin 
MacCoul  at  his  residence,  down  at  the  Causeway 
he  has  never  completed,  and  before  committing 
that  act  I  desire  to  chronicle  some  of  the  events 
of  my  last  week  in  Ireland,  which,  in  more  ways 
than  one,  has  been  a  great  delight. 

In  my  last  letter  I  left  you  at  Mallow,  whence  I 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  Kilcolman  Castle,  or  all  that 
remains  of  it,  in  order  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  Edmund  Spenser.  To  accomplish  this  we 
had  to  go  by  rail  to  Buttevant,  and  there  take  a 
jaunting-car.  The  ride  of  three  miles  is  an  enjoy- 
able one,  but  the  detour  will  not  pay  the  average 
tourist.  In  fact,  most  people  would  never  know 
the  place  existed,  since  from  the  time  I  landed  at 
Queenstown  until  I  reached  Mallow,  I  was  unable 


70  AS    WE   SA  W  IT  IN  '90. 

to  get  the  least  information  regarding  it,  or  the 
manner  of  getting  there.  Neither  do  the  guide- 
books mention  it.  However,  before  leaving  New 
York,  I  had  spent  an  afternoon  in  the  Astor 
Library,  and  from  different  lives  of  Raleigh  and 
Spenser  had  found  Youghal  and  Kilcolman  were 
sacred  to  them.  Hence  my  determination  was 
strengthened  to  see  both. 

Alas,  the  very  country  which  nurtured  and 
inspired  that  unique  poet,  seems  to  have  forgotten 
him  !  Of  his  castle,  granted  him  by  Elizabeth, 
but  one  tower  remains.  Its  grounds  are  a  pasture 
for  cows  and  sheep,  and  its  lake,  whose  praises  he 
sang,  and  upon  which  he  loved  to  gaze  at  sunset 
with  his  mainspring,  Raleigh,  is  but  a  marsh. 

The  next  scene  in  our  day's  pilgrimage  was  laid 
in  Tipperary.  Leaving  the  cars  at  Limerick  Junc- 
tion we  were  driven  thither.  As  we  jolted  over 
the  stony  road,  I  was  filled  with  thankfulness  for 
natural  teeth,  otherwise  I  should  never  have  dared 
open  my  mouth  for  the  following  interview  with 
the  driver  : 

"  Are  you  a  Land  Leaguer  ? " 

"  I  am."     (Pronounced  yam  !) 

"Is  it  perfectly  safe  for  us  to  drive  about  the 
town  ? " 

"  It  is,  wid  me,  sure.  Mebbe  yez  didn't  hear  av 
the  man  who  was  shot  yisterday  ?  " 


NEW    TIPPERARY.  71 

u  Shot  !  "  in  chorus  by  our  quartette. 

"  Yis,  shot  dead  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  from  us. 

u  Because  he  was  suspicted." 

"  Do  you  think  we  will  be  suspicted  ? " 

"  No,  mum,  not  whin  yer  wid  me,  didn't  I  tell 
yez." 

As  we  approached  the  New  Town  he  explained 
confidentially  that  the  evicted  tenants  were  to  be 
its  inhabitants. 

"What  are  evicted  tenants?"  I  asked. 

"  Thim's  the  payple  Smith-Barry  has  tried  to 
force  to  pay  ground  rints." 

"Were  their  shops  and  houses  on  his  ground  ?  " 

"They  were." 

"  Why  should  they  not  pay  him,  then  ? " 

"  Because  the  league  tould  them  he  charged 
too  much." 

Here  we  drive  in  upon  the  New  Town  of  Tip- 
perary.  It  is  built  quite  outside  of  the  Old  Town, 
upon  a  piece  of  useless  land,  which  up  to  date 
has  been  a  common.  The  twenty-six  new  houses 
are  two  stories  high,  some  of  brick  and  more  of 
wood,  and  face  a  square,  one  side  of  which  is 
occupied  by  an  arcade.  This  building  has  a  town- 
clock,  and  on  either  side  of  the  passage  extending 
through  it  are  the  shops  of  the  evicted. 

We  got  down  here  and  went   into  the  arcade. 


72  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Out  of  the  thirteen  shops  on  either  side,  every 
other  one,  at  least,  was  for  the  sale  of  liquor  or 
cigars.  Over  the  first  waved  a  white  banner  upon 
which,  in  red  letters,  we  read  :  "  Every  demon 
runs  its  course."  This  referred  to  Smith-Barry, 
and  not  to  the  demon  of  drink,  of  course.  From 
the  neighboring  cloth-shop  the  proprietor  stepped 
out  to  solicit  our  patronage.  Over  it  was  the 
motto :  "  There  is  no  joy  without  affliction." 
He  seemed  a  very  decent  man,  and  I  gave  him 
the  chance  I  saw  he  wished  to  tell  his  story.  To 
my  inquiry,  as  to  why  he  was  there,  he  replied  : 

"  Yis,  I  was  evicted  ;  that  is  I  wint  out." 

"  Had  you  built  your  own  shop  !  " 

"  Yis,  it  cost  me  six  hundred  pounds  "  ($3,000). 

"  What  was  your  ground  rent  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  not  for  the  mather  of  that,  ye 
see,  but  becase  I  owed  six  shillings  ($1.50)  on  me 
ground  rint,  that  I  was  bound  not  to  pay  till  Smith- 
Barry  rejuced  it." 

"  Are. you  a  member  of  the  league  ?  " 

"I  am." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  wise  to  lose  a  shop  valued 
at  six  hundred  pounds  for  six  shillings  ? " 

"I  do." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Becase  if  I  had  not  done  as  the  others  did, 
I  would  have  been  bycotted  !  " 


NEW    TIPPERARY,  73 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? "    I  demurely  ask. 

"Cut  by  every  mimber  of  the  leygue,  and 
perhaps  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  sill  goods  at 
all,  at  all." 

"  And  what  would  have  happened  if  there  were 
enough  people  who  chose  to  buy  of  you  who  were 
non-leaguers  ?  " 

"  Both  thim  and  meself  would  be  bycotted 
by  the  leygue,  and  it's  very  uncomfortable  not  to 
be  spoken  to  or  associated  wid  by  your  friends. 
Thin,  too,  if  I  failed  in  this  course  and  went  to 
the  league  and  asked  to  be  taken  in  again,  they 
wouldn't  take  me  back." 

As  we  come  out  to  get  into  our  car,  a  ragged 
woman  invites  me  to  give  her  something  in  ex- 
change for  shoe-strings  or  paper  ballads  with 
which  she  makes  a  flourish.  Taking  a  penny 
ballad,  for  which  she  blesses  me  as  she  grabs  the 
two  cents  charged  for  it,  I  say,  "  I  only  take  this 
of  you  because  you  have  it  to  sell,  not  because  I 
want  it." 

Here  a  dirty  fellow,  whose  feet  don't  seem  to 
be  mates,  so  badly  does  he  shamble,  lounges 
up  and  says,  "  Gimme  a  penny." 

"What  for,  your  laziness  or  impertinence?"  I 
ask.     With  a  growl  he  curses  me  and  moves  off. 

The  Old  Town  is  much  larger  than  I  supposed 
it  was.     And,  with  a  flourish,  Paddy  drives  us  up 


74  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

and  down  the  streets  which,  with  their  closed  and 
boarded  shops,  are  as  solemn  and  deserted  as 
Pompeii.  Upon  them  were  huge  placards  read- 
ing, "  Evicted.  On  the  cause  must  go."  Many 
of  the  windows  in  the  buildings  were  smashed, 
and  some  showed  signs  of  having  been  set 
on  fire.  One  had  an  extra  sign  which  said, 
M  Mrs.  Cotter  has  closed  out  her  premises  and 
resumed  business  in  New  Town."  The  shops 
that  were  sandwiched  in  among  the  evicted 
ones  looked  very  uncomfortable  and  lonely. 
Paddy  explained  that  they  were  not  on  Smith- 
Barry's  land,  as  his  tenants  alone  were  evicted. 
He  also  showed  us  a  boycotted  shop  whose  owner 
was  not  a  Land  Leaguer,  and,  had  time  allowed,  I 
think  we  would  have  bought  something  of  the 
clean  but  weary-looking  woman  who  stood  in  the 
front  door. 

On  our  way  back  to  Limerick  Junction,  I  asked 
the  driver  who  owned  the  common  on  which  the 
New  Town  was  going  up. 

"  Stafford  O'Brien,  sure." 

"  Is  he  a  Land  Leaguer  ?  " 

"  He  is  that." 

"  Are  the  people  to  have  the  new  houses  and 
shops  free  of  rent?" 

"  They  are,  until  they  are  able  to  pay  fur  them. 
So  I  have  been  tould." 


NEW   TIPPERARY.  75 

"  And  what  if  they  consider  the  new  price  too 
high  ? " 

"  Arragh,  then  I  suppose  they  will  build  a  new 
New  Tipperary." 

In  Dublin  the  first  tram-car  we  employed  had  a 
most  remarkable  blue  ticket.  For  a  penny  we 
get  the  following  :  On  one  side,  the  streets  it 
traversed  and  its  destination  ;  on  the  other,  "  Dub- 
lin Street  Tramway,  103.  Would  you  know  the 
value  of  money  ?  Go  and  borrow  some,"  followed 
by  the  picture  of  a  shoe  and  the  name  of  the 
maker.  Beneath  this  was,  "  Calamity  is  man's 
true  touchstone."  This  motto,  which  many  might 
not  read,  since  as  soon  as  punched  and  given  you, 
it  seems  to  be  the  fashion  to  throw  the  ticket  on 
the  car  floor,  caught  my  eye,  and,  with  my  mind 
filled  with  the  scenes  of  Southern  Ireland's  pov- 
erty and  old  Tipperary's  woe,  I  wondered  what 
would  be  the  outcome  of  such  calamity  as  seems 
widespread  at  present  in  as  beautiful  a  country  as 
was  ever  created. 

Fate  was  my  close  companion,  for  at  the  hospi- 
table Imperial  Hotel  I  was  given  a  very  quiet 
room,  by  request,  as  we  were  to  be  there  for  Sun- 
day. When  the  housekeeper  ushered  me  in,  she 
said  : 

"I  hope  you'll  be  comfortable,  Miss;  Mr.  Wil- 
liam O'Brien,  M.  P.,  always  had  this  room  before 


76  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

he  was  married  and  was  here  for  a  night  only 
yesterday." 

Newspapers,  from  which  items  had  been  clipped, 
were  on  the  large-writing  table,  and  an  easy  chair 
stood  near  it.  I  threw  myself  into  its  depths  and 
sincerely  wished  for  the  power  to  read  men's 
minds.  Then  would  I  know  the  innermost  thoughts 
of  this  idol  of  the  Land  League,  by  whose  best 
adherents  he  is  considered  the  soul  of  honesty. 
He  certainly  is  the  Paul  of  their  faith,  for  he  has 
suffered  imprisonment  and  many  hardships  and 
trials. 

The  papers  were  full  of  the  trial  I  attended  at 
Bantry,  and  editorial  comments  differed  according 
to  the  politics  of  the  journal  one  read.  Father 
Crowley  had  the  choice  between  a  fine  and  six 
months'  imprisonment,  and  chose  the  latter. 

I  wish  for  you  no  better  luck  than  to  go  to  the 
Imperial  in  Dublin.  The  women  guests  are  under 
the  especial  surveillance  of  one  Richard  Heather- 
stone,  who  is  perfect  in  his  department.  After  a  suc- 
cession of  meals,  of  which  you  had  partaken  merely 
to  keep  life  in  your  body,  fancy  the  delight  of 
sitting  down  unexpectedly  to  a  daintily-laid  table, 
just  for  four !  As  the  covers  are  lifted  there  is  a 
tenderloin  of  beef  for  each,  and  fried  potatoes, 
without  even  asking  for  them,  because  you  have 
been    refused    everywhere   else.     Then   comes   an 


NEW    TIPPERARY. 

underwaiter,  with  tinkling  cymbals  in  the  shape  of 
glasses  of  water  with  ice,  chiming  a  merry  tune  to 
his  tread.  We  look  about  for  the  good  fairy, 
and  find  him  in  Heatherstone,  who  has  been  stand- 
ing at  a  distance  to  enjoy  our  exclamations  of 
unsuppressed  glee. 

In  this  hotel  is  the  largest  round  table  I  ever 
saw.  It  is  formed  of  four  pieces  of  polished 
mahogany,  joined  in  the  center,  and  is  enough  to 
awaken  envy  in  the  breast  of  the  wraith  of  King 
Arthur.  Upon  it  I  found  a  guide-book  to  the 
United  States,  edited  by  Bradshaw  in  1886.  It 
gave  the  population  of  Buffalo  as  156,000,  and 
said  tramways  ran  through  the  public  streets  (five 
cents).  This  price  must  amuse  people  over  here, 
for  in  this  country  or  England  one  can  go  almost 
any  distance  for  one  penny  (two  cents).  It  went 
on  to  say  the  places  of  amusement  were  St.  James 
Hall  and  Music  Hall.  Under  the  head  of  bankers 
it  gave  the  First  National  (long  defunct),  and  it 
said  that  Buffalo's  best  physicians  were  Doctors 
Graves  and  Bevan.  (?)  It  also  advised  a  drive  to 
Fort  Porter,  whose  ruins  (razed  some  years  since) 
enable  one  to  get  fine  views  of  the  river. 

Of  course  we  did  Dublin,  and  found  much  to 
interest  us.  About  Phoenix  Park  we  had  an  intel- 
ligent driver  who  knew  personally  all  the  men  con- 
victed of  the  murder  of  Lord  Frederick  Cavendish. 


78  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN   "JO. 

He  told  us  he  received  fifteen  shillings  a  week  for 
his  yoke  (the  car  he  drove)  from  the  owner,  and 
through  the  kindness  of  passengers  he  was  mostly 
able  to  make  it  come  up  to  one  pound  sterling 
Out  of  this  five  dollars  he  kept  a  wife  and  three 
children.  Their  home-grown  meat  was  very  dear, 
he  told  us,  seven  pence,  or  fourteen  cents,  a  pound 
for  the  poorest  cuts,  while  round  cost  one  shilling 
(twenty-five  cents)  a  pound,  and  tenderloin  thirty- 
three  cents  of  our  money.  For  our  American  meat 
he  paid  much  less,  and  vastly  preferred  its  flavor. 

Sunday  morning  we  attended  service  in  the  old- 
est church  in  Dublin,  St.  Audceons.  I  carried  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  its  venerable  canon  and 
curate,  and  after  service  met  both.  They  gave  us 
a  most  cordial  greeting.  The  curate  went  out  into 
the  ruins  of  the  cathedral,  part  of  whose  nave  is 
now  roofed  and  in  use,  and,  having  made  it  a 
study,  he  was  able  to  give  us  a  most  interesting 
word  sketch  as  well  as  a  written  account  of  its 
history. 

During  excavations  some  years  since  it  was 
discovered  that  walls  had  been  built  over  beau- 
tiful frescoes,  one  of  which  in  an  arch  was  prob- 
ably the  patron  saint  of  a  side  altar.  High  above 
it  in  the  outside  wall  had  been  uncovered  small, 
slanting  windows  which,  it  is  supposed,  were 
used  by  lepers  or  persons  with  foul  disease,  who 


NEW    TIPPERARY.  79 

inhabited  a  hospital  built  against  the  cathedral, 
to  enable  them  to  see  into  the  cathedral  during 
service. 

The  congregation  we  worshipped  among  was 
small  but  devout,  and  our  four  silver  pieces  stood 
out  among  the  coppers  in  the  collection  plate, 
which  was  in  the  vestry  after  service.  Of  course 
they  have  a  rare  old  Queen  Anne  communion  ser- 
vice. I  was  thankful  for  the  thought  of  the  Irish- 
American  friend,  who  formerly  belonged  to  this 
parish,  and  whose  many  hints  helped  me  to  see 
Dublin  so  comfortably. 

On  Sunday  the  streets  were  gay  with  the  many 
soldiers  in  uniform,  parading  idly  up  and  down, 
and  on  Monday,  which  chanced  to  be  a  field-day, 
we  saw  a  sham  battle  in  the  park. 

Dublin  shops  are  enticing,  and  one,  to  catch 
American  trade,  hoists  an  American  flag.  Excess  of 
tournure  is  all  the  rage  here,  and  the  latest  fad  is 
a  beauty-spot  veil,  only  a  bit  of  thin,  black  net, 
with  one  spot  of  black  chenile  to  come  against 
the  left  cheek. 

Before  departing  I  bought  round-trip  tickets  to 
Belfast,  via  Enniskillen,  Portrush,  and  the  Antrim 
coast,  of  the  great  agent  Cook,  because  every  one 
assured  me  they  were  cheaper.  I  took  the  precau- 
tion to  ask  the  price  Qf  tickets  from  point  to  point, 
and  found  it  saved  me  barely  twenty-five  cents, 
if  that. 


80  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

The  cost  of  riding  on  a  rail  in  Ireland  is  a 
luxury.  For  third-class  cars  we  pay  at  the  rate  of 
two  cents  a  mile,  and  for  first-class  four  cents.  If 
they  tarred  and  feathered  us,  I  can't  imagine  what 
the  bill  would  amount  to. 

Disaffected  members  of  the  community  give  us 
freely  public  hints  with  regard  to  the  state  of 
their  minds,  by  writing  on  the  grained  wooden 
backs  of  the  car  seats  such  sentiments  as  these  : 
"  Home  Rule  and  more  rum  ! "  "  Down  with  the 
Pope,  up  with  the  jug !  " 

At  a  small  station  on  our  way  to  Enniskillen  two 
young  men  got  into  our  car.  One  was  sober,  the 
other  drunk.  They  were  going  to  Derry  to  sail 
for  America,  as  was  evident  from  the  crowd  at  the 
station  of  men,  women  and  children.  The  poor 
old  father  called  out :  "  Be  a  good  by,  Teddy,  and 
write  your  mither."  "  That's  sail  right,"  mumbled 
Teddy.  As  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station 
such  a  howl  went  up  from  the  assembled  multitude 
as  I  never  wish  to  hear  again.  The  women  cov- 
ered their  faces  with  aprons  and  shawls,  and  the 
men's  tears  were  allowed  free  play  down  their 
browned  cheeks,  as  they  strained  their  eyes  to 
catch  a  last  glance  of  the  poor  boy.  He  staggered 
to  the  car  door,  and  taking  off  his  round  black  hat, 
waved  it  at  them  until  he  dropped  it,  as  I  felt  sure 
he  would.     He  then  called  out :   "  Kape  it  for  me 


NEW    TIPPERARY.  81 

sake.  Good-bye  !  'Rah  for  Prisident  Harrison,  to 
h — 1  with  Queen  Victoria  and  aller  subjecs  ! " 
and  with  this  supreme  effort  he  sat  down  hatless. 

It  was  a  pitiful  sight,  and  his  companion's 
"Teddy,  lad,  be  quiet,"  seemed  to  bring  him  to  his 
senses,  for  he  began  to  apologize  to  the  car,  and  to 
fumble  in  a  carpet-bag  for  a  woolen  cap,  after 
donning  which  he  went  to  sleep. 

Enniskillen  !  This  place  we  rather  regretted 
reaching,  as  we  had  met  in  our  car  two  charming 
Irish  ladies,  wives  of  army  officers,  who  were  re- 
turning from  a  day  at  Rosstrevor  on  the  eastern 
coast  of  Ireland.  But  we  were  at  the  same  time 
full  of  anticipation,  especially  after  they  had  told 
us  of  beautiful  Lough  Erne,  upon  which  it  is 
placed,  and  of  all  there  was  of  interest  to  see. 
The  Royal  Hotel,  kept  by  two  pretty  Irish  women 
who  are  cousins,  made  us  very  comfortable,  and 
the  following  morning  we  were  rowed  to  Devinish 
Island  to  see  the  most  perfect  of  the  seventy-three 
remaining  towers  out  of  the  original  one  hundred 
and  eighteen.  It  stands  in  strength  and  beauty 
beside  the  ruins  of  a  cathedral,  through  whose 
crumbling  arches  rare  views  of  lake  and  mountain 
can  be  had.  Sunshine  and  blue  sky  added  to  our 
excursion,  and  as  we  leave  fair  Enniskillen,  we 
sigh  for  more  time  and  money  in  order  to  linger 
where  we  are  most  pleased. 


82  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

At  Bundoran  (pronounced  Bundorn)  we  found 
wretched  hotels  for  a  watering-place,  and  I  con- 
cluded lodgings  would  be  preferable,  if  one  were 
to  remain  any  length  of  time.  After  supper  we 
followed  the  tide  on  its  outward  course  for  three- 
fourths  of  a  mile  over  rocks  and  sea-weeds  and 
were  able  to  go  about  points  and  into  caverns  that 
were  in  the  water  when  we  arrived.  Quite  out  at 
sea,  we  climbed  the  highest  rock  within  reach,  and 
watched  the  sun  sink  and  full  moon  rise,  at  the 
identical  moment.  Then  between  moonlight  and 
sunset-light  we  had  a  picture  worth  crossing  the 
ocean  to  see,  and  when  by  eleven  o'clock  we  sought 
our  hotel  it  was  still  twilight.  Until  this  day  the 
season  had  been  so  cold  and  rainy,  the  poor  shop- 
keepers told  me  that  they  had  feared  there  would 
be  no  season. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  were  off  for  Belleek 
in  a  jaunting-car,  the  day  being  fair,  in  order  to 
economize  time.  This  drive  enabled  us  to  see 
several  villages  better  than  we  could  from  the 
train,  and  in  the  doors  of  the  huts  we  saw  women, 
busy  with  embroidery.  They  ran  to  us  the  mo- 
ment we  stopped,  and  one  fine  handkerchief,  ele- 
gantly embroidered  with  the  trefoil,  they  would 
sell  for  seven  pence  (or  fourteen  cents)  to  the 
buyers,  and  to  us  "for  one  and  six,  not  forty  cents, 
if  we  would  be  so  kind  as  to  give  it."     I  had  seen 


NEW    TIPPERARY.  83 

one  almost  like  it  in  a  shop  for  one  dollar  and  fifty- 
cents,  and  in  America  the  same  would  bring  two 
dollars,  if  not  much  more. 

Our  driver,  a  young  man,  inquired  a  great  deal 
about  America,  and  told  us  he  was  paid  nothing 
by  the  hotel  for  his  services.  He  received  his  bed 
and  grub  from  the  proprietor,  and  outside  of  that 
"took  his  chances"  for  fees  from  passengers. 

The  road  was  lively  with  cars  full  of  people  in 
Sunday  best  attire  going  to  a  fair  near  by,  "  and 
also  much  cattle."  One  old  couple  sat  on  the 
front  seat,  while  piggy  occupied  the  rear.  Here, 
too,  we  saw  very  small  donkeys,  loaded  with  pan- 
niers filled  with  vegetables,  until  they  were  almost 
hidden,  which  women  drove  as  well  as  men. 

Our  driver  said  :  "  The  throuble  over  here  now 
is  that  our  min  are  women  and  our  women  min.  I 
don't  know  what  will  be  the  result.  See  that  gurrl 
driving  that  kyar  ?  Well,  she  can  kyart  or  do  the 
loikes  of  that  as  well  as  anny  man,  and  bether." 

He  also  told  us  the  difference  between  an  in- 
side and  an  outside  car.  An  outside  car  has  its 
wheels  on  the  inside,  viz.,  beneath  the  seats,  and 
an  inside  car  (a  covered  vehicle)  has  its  wheels 
on  the  outside.  For  his  politeness  and  informa- 
tion of  course  he  got  a  fee,  when  he  had  safely 
landed  us  at  the  only  factory  now  in  Belleek. 
Here  a  man  took  us  through  the  works,  explaining 


84  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

every  part  of  the  process,  from  the  pulverizing  of 
the  flint  in  huge  vats  to  the  firing.  The  kilns  are 
immense  affairs,  and  every  two  weeks-  are  heated 
for  a  firing  of  forty-eight  hours,  which  consumes 
thirteen  tons  of  coal.  This  first  firing  makes  bis- 
cuit-ware, after  which  it  is  enameled  with  a  prep- 
aration of  flint,  borax,  white  lead,  magnesia,  and 
water,  and  fired  twenty-four  hours. 

The  burnishing  is  done  with  blood-stones  by 
women,  who  get  $2.50  a  week.  The  most  inter- 
esting part  was  watching  the  making  of  flowers 
by  an  expert,  who  had  worked  at  it  since  he  was 
a  boy.  I  asked  them  what  they  thought  of  the 
works  we  have  for  making  the  same  ware  in 
Trenton,  N.  J.,  and  the  guide  replied  :  ' "  They 
have  injured  us  very  much." 

In  the  wareroom  I  saw  a  cup  for  $2.50  that  our 
American  importers  retail  for  $5.00  and  $7.00, 
because  the  Irish  Belleek  mark  is  upon  it.  What 
a  pity  that  the  inventors  of  such  an  industry  should 
ever  have  allowed  any  nation  upon  earth  to  inter- 
fere with  its  progress.  With  plenty  of  flint  in  its 
mountains  close  at  hand,  and  the  sea  ever  ready 
to  give  freely  its  shells,  sea-weeds  and  corals  for 
imitation,  the  power  to  hold  its  own  seems  want- 
ing, and  so  by  degrees  the  secret  with  the  expert 
workmen  has  drifted  off  to  a  new  country,  where, 


NEW    TIPPERARY.  85 

after  all,  they  only  make  Trenton  and  not  Belleek 
Belleek. 

In  Londonderry  (Derry,  as  they  call  it  here) 
we  were  agreeably  surprised.  I  had  always  sup- 
posed it  of  necessity  was  the  Irish  Liverpool,  but 
I  found  its  shipping  quite  removed  from  the  town, 
and  old  Derry  proper  almost  as  quaint  as  Chester, 
with  a  broad  walk  on  its  wall  entirely  about  the 
city,  and  many  very  old  gates,  as  well  as  monu- 
ments and  churches.  At  the  nearest  one  to  the 
station  I  saw  a  seafaring  style  of  man  in  a  blue 
coat,  and  as  I  asked  my  way  on  to  the  wall  he 
offered  to  show  me.  This  he  did  so  pleasantly 
and  intelligently  that  he  stayed  with  us  during 
the  entire  round,  and  his  sayings  caused  us  many 
a  laugh.  Of  course  I  asked  if  he  belonged  to  the 
league,  and  he  said  :     "  I  do,  Miss." 

"What  do  you  think  about  the  state  of  Ireland 
now?''  was  the  next  question. 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  concluded  there's 
no  use  in  living  in  Rome  and  fighting  the  Pope," 
was  his  very  sage  answer. 

A  new  guildhall  was  to  be  opened  the  next 
week  by  the  Duke  of  Abercorn,  and  he  showed 
this  building  with  great  pride.  He  also  explained 
why  the  Irish  miles  were  so  long  more  intelligently 
than  any  one  we  had  ever  asked,  saying :  "  You 
see  an  Irish  mile  is  a  mile  and  a  bittock,  and  a 


86  AS    WE  SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

bittock  is  a  mile.  They  first  measured  it  with  a 
mad  dog. and  a  woolen  string,  the  dog  gave  a 
leap  and  the  string  stretched." 

"Is  Justin  McCarthy,  your  M.  P.,  liked?"  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  by  some,  and  no,  by  others  ;  but  his  son 
has  been  anything  but  a  favorite.  There  are  not 
many  men  nowadays  like  Sir  Robert  Ferguson, 
whose  statue  you  see  over  there.  He  was  a  mem- 
ber for  twenty  years.  'Bart.'  is  after  his  name, 
I  don't  know  what  for." 

"  Baronet,"  I  suggested,  glad  to  tell  him  even  so 
small  a  thing  in  return  for  all  his  information. 

"What  do  you  think  will  help  Ireland  out  of  her 
present  trouble  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  Well,  Miss,  I'm  thinking  if  the  Lord  would 
put  His  mighty  hand  on  it  about  in  the  middle — 
and  that  would  be  Tipperary — and  hold  it  down 
under  the  sea  for  fifteen  minutes,  when  He  brought 
it  up  again  all  the  trouble  would  be  remedied." 

"Are  you  a  Catholic?"  I  asked  next. 

"  I  am ;  and,  strange  to  say,  an  old  prophecy 
has  just  come  to  pass,  and  I  believe  it  augurs  good 
for  Ireland's  future." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"Well,  'When  O'Donnell  rules  in  Donegal,  and 
O'Dougherty  in  Derry,  then  Ireland  shall  be  free.' 
The  new  Bishop  of    Donegal  is  only  twenty-five 


NEW    T1PPERARY.  87 

years  old  and  named  O'Donnell,  and  one  O'Dough- 
erty  is  now  Bishop  of  Deny,"  he  replied. 

I  inquired  where  the  opera  house  or  theater 
was,  and  he  said  :  "  We  don't  have  theaters  or 
singing  halls  here,  because  the  people  would  never 
make  them  pay.  You  see  we  are  both  busy  and 
old-fashioned  in  Derry." 

When  the  round  of  the  walls  was  made,  he 
showed  us  the  post-office,  where  we  got  our  first 
home  letters,  and  then  left  us  at  a  penny  tram, 
which  took  us  over  to  the  Old  Town  and  to  our 
station,  and  we  all  agreed  that  an  indigenous  guide 
in  a  short  time  could  tell  one  more  than  many 
guide-books. 

And  so,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  letter, 
if  you  never  hear  of  me  again,  you  will  know  I 
have  decided  to  remain  at  the  Causeway. 


LETTER     VI. 

The  Causeway. 

Caves  and  Other  Belongings  of  Fin  MacCoul — Along  the 
Antrim  Coast — The  White  Horse  Over  the  Doors  that 
Has  Nothing  to  Do  with  Red-haired  Girls. 

Stranraer,  Scotland,  July  7,  1890. 
That  seeing  is  believing  I  grant  you,  but  read- 
ing of  or  being  told  about  a  place  does  not  mean  a 
correct  idea  regarding  it.  For  instance,  from 
childhood  I  have  been  familiar  with  pictures  of 
the  Giant's  Causeway  on  Ireland's  most  northern 
coast,  as  well  as  with  descriptions  of  it.  Imagine 
my  astonishment  then  in  finding  that  this  great 
curiosity  is  only  a  small  part  of  his  demesne. 
From  Portrush  to  the  Causeway  the  coast  is  bluff 
and  broken,  and  the  only  way  thoroughly  to  enjoy 
its  glorious  nooks  and  crannies  is  to  walk  the  dis- 
tance, over  as  beautiful  a  beach  as  exists.  Lack 
of  time  forced  us  to  use  the  electric  tramway, 
which  disorganized  all  our  watches.  This  has 
observation  cars,  and  what  cannot  be  seen  from 
them  must  be  imagined. 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  89 

In  front  of  me  sat  a  dear  old  Irish  lady  who 
had  been  coming  here  from  childhood,  .  and 
yet  she  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  showed  me 
everything  of  interest  en  route  from  the  Giant's 
profile  in  a  huge  rock  to  Dunluce  Castle,  a 
remnant  of  feudalism  which  overtops  the  coast 
just  before  the  Causeway  is  reached.  At  the  ter- 
minus we  were  met  by  a  guide  who  had  given  us 
his  card  the  previous  afternoon,  upon  our  arrival 
at  Portrush.  He  took  possession  of  us,  and 
after  saying  a  dozen  times  in  succession  that  he 
was  the  very  best  guide  there,  Archie  Faull  by 
name,  and  that  he  had  taken  Gen.  Sherman  about 
the  Causeway,  we  concluded  to  employ  him  for  his 
persistence. 

The  day  was  perfect  except  for  a  strong  breeze, 
which  did  not  deter  us  from  taking  our  tickets  for 
what  is  called  the  "  Long  Course."  Before  buying 
them  I  discovered  that  most  tourists  see  the 
Causeway  by  walking  to  it.  Hence  our  decision 
to  see  it  from  the  water.  Had  we  not  done  this, 
the  Causeway  might  have  come  up  to  our  expec- 
tations ;  as  it  was  it  did  not. 

Our  guide  led  the  way  to  the  boat,  assuring  us 
for  the  dozen  and  oheth  time  that  he  had  been 
Gen.  Sherman's  guide,  so  we  hastened  on  board 
by  way  of  quietus,  and  after  that  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery    seemed   to   occupy  his   mind.      Our  two 


go  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

brawny  boatmen  made  a  picture  as  they  pulled  us 
out  from  the  rocky  and  sea- weed-girt  harbor  into 
the  white-capped  waves,  toward  the  first  of  the 
two  caves.  This  can  be  entered  from  the  land, 
and  while  we  felt  its  beauty,  we  desired  to  go  on 
to  the  further  one,  that  only  those  who  are 
seaworthy  can  explore.  Once  before  it,  we  were 
told  how  high  and  deep  and  wide  it  was,  but  as 
dimensions  never  remain  in  my  mind  a  moment, 
all  I  can  say  is  that  it  is  higher  than  an  ordinary 
dwelling-house,  with  an  entrance  broader  than  the 
front  of  such  a  house.  The  waves  at  its  mouth 
strenuously  objected  to  our  advent,  while  those 
behind  urged  us  on,  until  with  a  bound  we  cleared 
the  sea  soap-suds  left  from  Fin  MacCoul's  bath 
that  morning,  and  entered  his  rocky  chamber. 
How  shall  I  describe  such  grandeur?  Let  me  try  ! 
The  floor  is  of  transparent  Irish  sea- water,  beneath 
which  we  saw  the  foundation  walls  covered  with 
embossed  sea-weeds.  Its  dado  is  rose-hued,  its 
walls  sparkle  with  many  minerals,  and  its  frieze  is 
of  maiden-hair  and  other  ferns.  High  above  ex- 
tends its  ceiling  of  many-colored  stones,  among 
which  beams  of  light,  reflected  from  the  floor, 
played  hide-and-seek.  No  wonder  the  monarch  of 
such  grandeur  thought  he  could  lay  a  road-bed 
between  Ireland  and  Scotland. 

Out  through  the  soap-suds  we  go  again,  bound- 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  91 

• 
ing  and  curveting  about  on  the  bluest  of  blue  waves. 

In  the  distance  we  see  steamers  bound  out  of 
Derry  for  many  ports,  the  only  salvage  within  our 
reach  being  a  dead  gannet  and  an  empty  butter-tub. 
The  latter  our  frugal  seamen  pull  on  board,  after 
which  with  lusty  strokes  we  head  eastward  for  our 
destination,  the  Pleaskin.  Between  us  and  this 
rock  lies  the  beginning  of  the  Causeway,  whose 
other  end  can  be  seen  by  Staffa  and  Iona  off  Scot- 
land. Had  such  a  Causeway  stood  until  this  day 
it  would  be  the  greatest  fire-wrought  curiosity  of 
the  world.  As  it  is,  one  takes  pleasure  in  fancying 
its  foundations  still  lie  beneath  the  sea,  which,  ever 
relentless,  ever  envious  of  its  enemy,  Fire,  has 
taken  pleasure  in  defacing  the  continuity  of  the 
most  marvelous  basaltic  structure  in  the  world. 

From  the  sea  the  Causeway  was  certainly  a 
disappointment,  as  photographs  of  it  are  taken 
evidently  with  the  purpose  of  flattery.  Like  a 
short  man,  it  is  taken  tall,  and  the  "  Now,  ladies, 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  disappointed  when  I  tell 
you  that  is  the  Causeway,"  from  our  guide,  but 
expressed  our  feelings  aloud. 

"  Yes  we  are  disappointed,"  we  say. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  adds,  "  wait  until  we  begin  to 
walk  upon  it,  and  then  I  am  sure  you  will  change 
your  mind." 

As  we  discovered  later,  the  fact  was  we  were 


92  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

comparing  it  with  the  huge  rocks  that  tower  like 
the  supports  of  a  suspension  bridge  upon  both 
sides  from  one  hundred  and  forty  to  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty  feet.  These  are  all  named  by 
fancy,  [as  they  resemble  organ-pipes,  the  Giant's 
Wife,  the  Nurse  with  their  Baby,  and  in  the  rock 
are  the  Wife's  footprints,  which  only  a  Chicago 
woman's  shoe  would  fit  to-day. 

Leaving  the  Causeway  behind  we  come  in  view 
of  the  largest  amphitheater  in  the  world,  beside 
which  Rome's  glory  would  be  a  pigmy,  and  then 
beyond  it  the  Pleaskin*  is  reached.  Here  we  turn 
and  retrace  our  path  part  way,  to  land  at  the 
Causeway,  going  about  a  rocky  island,  which  resem- 
bles a  huge  lion  couchant,  and  when  painted  or 
photographed  gives  one  some  conception  of  the 
size  of  the  Giant's  animals.  Our  boatmen  offer 
us  boxes  of  specimens  as  we  prepare  to  leave 
them  ;  but  fortunately  we  do  not  invest,  as  we 
find  men  willing  to  sell  them  for  half  the  price 
on  shore.  One  man  was  so  like  one  of  our  boat- 
men that  I  exclaimed,  as  he  approached  us  : 

"  How  did  you  get  your  boat  back  and  change 
your  clothes  so  quickly  ?  " 

"  I  didn't,  mum,  I'm  my  brother's  twin,"  he 
answered,  and,  sure  enough,  he  was  the  image  of 
him  !  He  offered  his  wares  for  much  less  than  his 
brother,  one  and  sixpence  a  box,  the  others  being 

*  A  huge  rock. 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  93 

two  and  sixpence,  and  yet  when  I  wanted  one 
specimen  only,  he  asked  one  shilling  for  it,  when 
the  box  contained  at  least  twenty-five  specimens. 
I  advised  him  to  put  up  smaller  boxes,  which  one 
could  more  easily  carry,  and  he  left  me  with  thanks 
for  my  suggestion  and  the  assurance  that  he  would 
order  some  small  boxes  at  once. 

With  the  aid  of  our  guide  we  find  the  Lady's 
Fan  of  seven  columns  arranged  in  a  semicircle. 
This  formation  is  below  the  level  of  its  compan- 
ions and  is  usually  full  of  water.  We  sit  in  the 
wishing-chair  and  drink  from  the  wishing-well,  and 
afterwards  buy  deep- red  four  and  five-leaf  clover 
leaves;  and,  in  fact,  like  children,  take  in  all  the 
side  and  center  shows  and  enjoy  each  one  to  the 
top  of  our  bent.  Our  guide  says  he  finds  us  dif- 
ferent from  most  tourists  ;  we  go  so  slowly  and  see 
so  much,  and  are  such  good  sailors.  The  shaking 
we  got  that  morning  was  enough  to  try  our  souls, 
and  we  don't  seem  to  care  for  figures. 

"  Well,"  I  answer  for  the  party,  "  we  are  glad  to 
know  you  have  50,000  of  these  basaltic  columns, 
and  that  they  vary  in  diameter  from  fifteen  to 
twenty-six  inches,  but  these  figures  don't  make 
them  any  more  beautiful,  or  assist  us  one  iota  to 
enjoy  the  variety  and  beauty  of  their  shapes." 

"  Madam,  you  are  right,"  he  replies,  "  and  I'm 


94  AS    IV E    SAIV  IT  I  AT  '90. 

rather  glad  to  meet  some  one  who  takes  me  out  of 
the  humdrum  routine  of  my  daily  life." 

"  Did  you  ever  eat  a  pikelet  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  What  is  that — something  like  an  English  muf- 
fin ?"  he  inquires. 

"Yes,  we  get  them  now  in  New  York  City 
under  the  name  of  crumpets,  which  they  are  not. 
This  Causeway  makes  me  think  of  an  immense 
one.  When  baked  and  cooled  they  look  exactly 
like  it,  on  a  small  scale.  The  yeast  you  see  forces 
each  particle  upwards,  in  which  position  it  is 
baked." 

"You  are  quite  right,  me  lady,"  he  laughingly 
replies,  "  there  must  have  been  a  lot  of  yeast  put 
in  the  Giant's  bakin'  the  day  he  made  the  Causy." 

"Are  you  pleased  with  the  Long  Course?"  he 
asks,  when  once  more  we  are  in  the  hotel. 

"  Perfectly,  and,  more  than  that,  we  desire  to 
recommend  you  to  our  friends."  As  quick  as  a 
flash  he  produced  a  book,  and  herein  with  Gen. 
Sherman  and  others  we  put  our  names. 

If  I  were  to  stay  a  night  here  I  should  go  to 
Kane's  Hotel  next  door.  It  is  much  more  reason- 
able than  the  Causeway  Hotel,  and  is  presided 
over  by  good-natured  and  huge  Mrs.  Kane,  who 
attends  to  business  herself.  Unfortunately,  though, 
our  hotel  is  not  in  with  the  electric  tramway  which 
won't  allow  her  porters  access  to  the  trains.     So  I 


THE    CA  USE  IV A  Y.  95 

advised  her  to  have  a  trustworthy  man  to  visit  all 
Portrush  trains  and  give  strangers  her  cards. 

This  visit  took  place  while  we  waited  to  have 
a  machine  brought  around  for  the  first  division  of 
our  Antrim  coast  trip,  for  our  driver  had  taken 
four  of  us  from  the  other  hotel  on  a  jaunting-car 
and  was  very  indignant  because  we  refused  to  let 
two  large  women  with  baskets  and  a  small  child 
get  on  with  us.  He  was  the  only  disagreeable 
Irishman  we  met,  and  before  the  end  of  the 
journey  I  was  forced  to  give  him  a  glimpse  into 
the  state  of  my  mind  regarding  his  peculiar  style 
of  character.  Suffice  to  say,  we  got  a  very  com- 
fortable wagonette,  in  which  we  made  an  easy 
journey  to  Bally  Castle.  This  drive  of  about 
three  hours  would  be  far  pleasanter  if  just  an  hour 
more  was  allowed,  for  there  would  then  be  time 
to  go  to  Carrick-a-Rede,  an  island  of  some  two 
acres,  which  is  connected  with  the  steep  main-land 
by  a  swinging  bridge  of  rope,  which  in  its  way 
is  a  curiosity.  I  should  rather  see  this  from 
the  shore  than  attempt  to  imitate  Blondin,  by 
walking  over  it,  with  a  yawning  chasm  one  hun- 
dred feet  beneath  me.  Still  one  should  see  it,  and 
the  half  hour  allowed  for  this  detour  while  the 
horses  are  climbing  a  steep  hill  is  not  nearly  long 
enough. 

Another   piece   of   advice — don't   stop  at    Bally 


96  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Castle.  It  is  an  uninteresting  town,  with  very 
indifferent  hotels,  and  upon  this  particular  night 
had  a  merry-go-round  in  its  public  square  upon 
which  the  windows  of  our  hotel  opened.  This 
kept  up  a  terrible  grind  until  nearly  twelve 
o'clock,  making  enough  noise  for  a  thing  three 
times  its  size. 

The  journey  from  the  Causeway  to  Larne  is 
no  longer  than  many  other  coaching  trips,  and  I 
would  rather  do  it  in  one  day  than  try  to  rest 
where  rest  could  not  be  found. 

As  we  were  about  to  take  the  coach  the  next 
morning  for  Larne,  a  clean  berry  woman  asked  us 
to  patronize  her.  Her  gooseberries  had  cheeks 
as  red  as  her  own,  although  she  was  by  no  means 
young.  And  as  I  asked  the  price  of  them  per 
quart,  I  said :  "  You  must  have  been  a  pretty 
woman  when  you  were  young." 

"Arragh,  then,  I  gets  four  pence  ha'penny  for 
thim,  me  leddy,  but  you  shall  have  thim  for  four- 
pence,  as  many  as  you  like,  for  your  pretty  com- 
pliment." 

Here  a  by-stander  chimed  in:  "She  is  a  clean 
old  woman  and  she  has  a  man  as  clean  as  herself, 
sure." 

The  result  was  we  bought  out  her  stock  in 
trade  and  all  started  off  eating  gooseberries,  as 
sweet  as  honey,  out  of  huge  cabbage-leaves. 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  97 

This  was  the  glorious  Fourth  of  July,  and  not 
one  of  our  party  had  an  American  flag  !  On  the 
coach,  however,  were  four  Americans  with  one 
about  three  inches  square,  given  them  the  day 
they  sailed,  on  the  topmast  of  a  ship  of  flowers, 
and  we  made  the  most  of  this,  as  you  may  believe. 
Our  wish  that  the  coach  would  contain  Americans 
alone  on  that  day  had  been  fulfilled,  and  as  we 
passed  through  towns  or  by  groups  of  picnickers 
one  of  the  gentlemen  would  wave  the  flag  and 
invariably  get  a  "hip,  hip,  hurrah!"  in  acknowl- 
edgment. 

On  a  fence  in  one  town  we  passed  sat  a  ragged 
little  Irish  boy.  The  flag  was  shaken  at  him,  as 
we  went  swiftly  on,  with  "  Do  you  know  what  that 
is,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Star  Spangled  Banner  ! "  he  shouted  after 
us,  much  to  our  surprise. 

All  this  time  we  were  going  along  beneath  huge 
rocks  of  limestone,  or  through  natural  arches  of  it, 
and  after  we  passed  Glen  Arm,  where  we  stopped 
for  luncheon  and  a  change  of  coaches,  we  had  the 
sea  ever  before  us.  I  should  advise  those  who 
travel  here  to  be  provided  with  luncheon.  At  Glen 
Arm  I  ordered  four  chicken  sandwiches.  The 
driver  being  impatient,  I  followed  up  the  order,  to 
find  they  were  doing  up  in  newspaper  four  mutton 
sandwiches. 


g8  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  This  will  never  do  !  I  ordered  chicken  !  " 
I  exclaimed.  "  Take  out  the  meat,  please,  and 
give  me  the  chicken  separate." 

By  this  time  I  was  in  the  kitchen  of  the  hotel 
and  found  four  women  seemingly  paralyzed.  At 
this,  knowing  the  driver  was  in  a  rage  at  the  delay, 
I  sent  one  for  white  paper,  another  for  chicken, 
another  for  pepper  and  salt,  and  with  my  own 
hands  removed  the  mutton  from  between  the 
bread.  When  they  all  returned  I  did  up  the 
bundle  and  paying  what  they  asked,  and  charging 
them  nothing  for  service,  tore  out  to  the  coach  with 
my  booty.  Hence,  as  I  have  said,  don't  allow  your 
nerves  to  be  racked  in  this  manner  when  you  do 
the  Antrim  coast,  but  provide  yourself  in  advance. 

As  we  get  nearer  Larne,  we  see  the  limestone 
undergoing  shipment  to  Glasgow  and  other  ports, 
and  the  natives,  men  and  women,  as  well  as 
children,  at  work  on  the  beach.  Now  what  would 
you  believe  they  are  doing  ?  Well,  the  tide  is  out, 
and  for  a  great  distance  the  stones  are  covered 
with  the  deep  sea-weeds,  and  these  they  are 
gathering  and  putting  on  the  big  rocks  by  the 
road  or  on  stone  walls  to  dry,  while  others  are 
taking  the  already  dried  weeds  off  in  wagons. 
Do  you  wish  to  know  what  they  do  with  the  dried 
ones?  Nothing  more  or  less  than  burn  them  to 
ashes,  which  a   native  told    me  are  sold    to  wool 


THE    CA  USE  W  A  V.  99 

works  and  dyeing  establishments.  Thus  their 
native  element,  the  sea,  furnishes  them  support 
which,  with  very  little  labor,  they  can  take  advan- 
tage of.  There  are  certain  kinds  of  kelp  they  find 
nourishing  for  food.  I  have  often  seen  it  for  sale 
in  the  streets,  but  never  desired  the  experience 
enough  to  warrant  trying  to  eat  it.  "  Some  likes 
it  biled,  and  some  likes  it  raw  wid  vinegar,"  one 
old  woman  who  sold  it  informed  me,  and  I  am 
sure  she  was  rather  hurt  that  I  did  not  on  the 
strength  of  that  information  buy  a  bushel  for  my 
next  meal. 

The  day  for  this  trip  was  so  perfect  that  we 
hardly  dared  mention  the  fact  for  fear  it  might 
rain.  Towards  the  last  we  took  on  some  native 
passengers,  and  one  very  neat  Irish  woman  gave 
me  a  deep-red  rose,  saying,  "  You  can  tell  now  you 
had  a  flower  from  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry's 
castle  in  Ireland  !  " 

At  Larne  our  coach  drew  up  in  front  of  its  pro- 
prietor's hotel,  the  genial  Hugh  McNeill.  He 
met  us  at  the  door,  and  finding  we  could  not 
remain  that  night,  said:  "If  you  will  have  supper 
here,  I  will  send  my  carriage  for  you  to  take  a 
drive  about  the  town  and  get  you  off  in  plenty  of 
time  to  reach  Belfast  early,"  We  could  not  but 
accept  such  unexpected  hospitality,  and  at  six- 
thirty   o'clock,    after   a   most   refreshing    tea,    we 


ioo  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

drove  for  nearly  two  hours  under  the  guidance  of 
as  amusing  a  "  horsy  gentleman  "  for  coachman 
and  after  two  as  gay  ponies  as  I  have  ever  seen. 
Mr.  McNeill  had  bade  him  take  us  up  on  the  hill 
overlooking  the  harbor,  but,  like  most  of  his  set, 
he  "  'ad  'is  own  way  of  thinkin' "  and  took  us 
instead,  as  he  well  said,  "  to  the  purtiest  'amlet  in 
hexistence."  The  houses  were  whitened  with  the 
lime  common  in  that  district,  and  thatched,  and 
with  the  acompanying  mill-dam  and  huge  trees, 
that  should  go  with  a  proper  village,  it  was  indeed 
a  gem.  As  we  went  to  it  the  sea  was  on  our  left, 
and  a  quantity  of  what  he  called  "  sea  'ens,  hall 
feathers  and  bones,  Miss,  not  worth  shootin'," 
were  flying  about  the  harbor. 

"  Don't  this  beat  hall  hother  villages  hinto  fits?  " 
he  cries,  as  we  dash  down  the  main  street. 

"  Indeed,  it  does,"  I  answered.  "  What  do  they 
make  in  these  mills?" 

"Whitnin',  Miss,  used  mostly,  I  believe,  for 
hadulteratin'  sugar  and  such  like." 

The  main  road  is  full  of  what  we  would  call 
"  thank-you-ma'ms"  in  America.  I  tell  him  this, 
and  he — would  I  could  show  you  his  comical  face 
— replies:  "Well,  Miss,  I  calls  'em  small  naps, 
but  if  you  was  to  hask  me  I  couldn't  christen  'em, 
onless  'twas  to  say  'ills  and  'oilers,  which  they  is, 
sure." 


THE    CAUSEWAY.  101 

On  our  return  two  carriages  pass  us  containing 
an  Irish  wedding  party.  They  are  very  jolly,  and 
he  told  us  no  one  was  half  married  unless  he  could 
have  at  least  two  carriages  for  the  day.  These 
cost  two  pounds,  or  ten  dollars,  and  hold  eight 
people.  This  is  only  one  of  the  many  queer 
notions  the  people  have  in  Ireland,  the  chiefest  of 
which  is  placing  a  white  horse  over  the  front  door. 
These  are  made  of  plaster  of  Paris,  and  as  the 
opening  over  the  door  is  filled  in  with  glass  they 
show  to  advantage.  One  day  I  asked  a  man  their 
significance,  and  he  replied  :  "  They  have  nothing 
to  do  with  red-headed  girls,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  How  did  you  know  of  that  saying  ? "  I  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  I've  lived  out  in  Texas,  and  when  I  first 
went  there  I  tried  everywhere  to  buy  a  white  horse 
to  put  over  my  window,  for  without  it  I  did  not 
feel  at  home." 

Our  English  driver  was  a  man  far  above  such 
Irish  follies,  and  he  had  the  look  in  his  face  the 
darkey  had  when  he  called  his  kinky-haired  off- 
spring in  from  the  street,  where  he  was  playing 
with  some  Irish  street  gamins,  saying :  "  Charles 
Augustus,  come  in  yhear  right  smart  out  ob  dat 
gang  ;  fust  ting  you  know  people'll  take  you  for 
Iish."  Suffice  to  say  he  begged  us  to  say  the  view 
was  "  very  fine,"  if    Mr.  McNeill  asked   us  about 


102  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  drive,  "for  I  don't  want  to  get  hinto  trouble, 
Miss,  only  I  know  hit  would  be  too  'ard  work  for 
the  'orses  if  I  took  'em  hup  that  'ill;  "  and  so  when 
our  host  asked  "if  the  view  was  fine,"  we  said, 
"Yes,  indeed,  it  was."  And  thus  every  one  was 
pleased  on  all  sides.  Strangest  of  all,  not  one  cent 
were  we  allowed  to  pay,  so  the  driver  came  in  for 
a  good  fee  when  he  left  us  at  the  station. 

Can  I  do  less  than  urge  every  one  to  do  the 
Antrim  coast,  and  at  the  end  make  a  friend  of 
big-hearted  Hugh  McNeill  in  Larne,  whose  enter- 
prise directs  the  trip  and  makes  it  possible  to 
spend  an  entire  day  comfortably  in  sight  of  the 
islands  of  Scotland,  with  the  sea  stretched  before 
you  ? 

We  found  in  Belfast  a  driving,  well-built  and 
enterprising  city,  and  took  much  pleasure  in  visit- 
ing its  linen  show-rooms,  among  them  that  of 
Brown  &  Sons.  A  nephew  of  the  firm  took  us 
about  through  the  rooms  and  offered  to  go  out 
to  their  suburban  works  with  us  if  we  had  time. 
As  it  was,  he  told  us  every  dozen  of  their  napkins 
and  every  table-cloth  had  the  trefoil  in  one  corner, 
hence  the  buyer  need  never  be  confused  regarding 
their  make.  "  Here  are  a  pile  of  handkerchiefs 
going  out  to  Flint  &  Kent  of  your  city,"  he  said, 
as  we  came  into  the  handkerchief  department,  and, 
as  usual,  they  were  the  finest  and  best. 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  103 

One  shop  unfurls  the  American  flag  every  morn- 
ing by  way  of  catching  trade,  you  see,  as  they  do 
in  Dublin. 

If  any  of  my  readers  ever  are  fortunate  enough 
to  see  Belfast,  do  not  be  induced  to  go  to  the 
Royal  Avenue  Hotel.  It  is  a  commercial  trav- 
elers' hotel  par  excellence  and  we  were  forced  to 
eat  in  the  common  coffee-room.  Here  some  of 
the  men  had  their  hats  on.  I  called  the  head- 
waiter  and  asked  if  there  was  no  other  room. 

"  Is  this  not  all  right,  madam  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  didn't  suppose  it  was,  from  the  presence 
of  the  men  I  see  over  there.  If  we  remain  you 
will  have  to  ask  them  to  remove  their  hats." 

At  this  he  made  a  bee-line  for  the  kitchen.  As 
the  hats  were  not  removed  and  he  did  not  return, 
I  called  for  him  and  asked,  "  Are  you  not  going  to 
have  those  men  remove  their  hats  ?  I  suppose,  as 
head-waiter,  it  is  your  business  to  see  your  dining- 
room  is  not  converted  into  a  bar-room  !  " 

"  Well,"  (he  was  German)  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "what  is  one  with  them  to  do — spike 
to  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  spike  them  with  your  tongue, 
and  see  if  you  can  move  them." 

This  he  proceeded  to  do,  seeing  I  was  deter- 
mined   to   have  quiet   and   order  or  not   remain. 


104  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Hats  removed  and  Home  Rule  established,  we 
asked  for  muffins. 

"  Muffins  !  "  he  reiterates. 

"Yes,  muffins;  have  you  none?  they  are  on  the 
bill  of  fare.'" 

"  No,  but  we  can  send  out  and  you  them  buy," 
he  replies. 

As,  of  course,  we  would  not  put  him  to  the  trou- 
ble of  them  to  buy,  we,  after  a  weary  wait,  had 
some  miserable  coffee  and  cold  toast.  Now,  such 
a  breakfast  does  not  tend  to  make  even  the  most 
saintly  in  harmony  with  the  world,  and  so  I  again 
impress  it  upon  you,  despite  its  prominent  situation 
and  reputation,  don't  go  there. 

We  regretted  not  being  able  to  go  to  see  the 
beautiful  glen  just  out  of  Belfast,  which  our  horsy 
friend  of  Larne  had  highly  recommended,  as  well 
as  Rosstrevor,  not  far  south  of  Belfast. 

After  contenting  ourselves  with  a  walk  about 
the  old  Linen  Hall,  and  paying  our  respects  to  our 
new  consul,  we  returned  in  the  afternoon  to  beau- 
tiful Larne.  We  could  see  our  route  there  better 
than  the  previous  evening,  and  realized  for  the  first 
time  how  well  placed  Belfast  is,  almost  on  the  sea, 
and  yet  completely  hidden  in  its  bay,  which  can 
hold  an  immense  fleet. 

Between  it  and  Larne  are  many  country  places, 
all  possessing  some  local  attraction. 


THE    CA  USE  WA  Y.  105 

We  were  to  take  the  newest  steamer  in  the  line, 
our  train  going  directly  down  to  the  wharf,  and 
were  told  she  took  "  only  eighty  minutes  to  cross 
to  Stranraer." 

Alas !  The  wind  was  rampant,  and  the  passage 
was  made  in  two  hours  and  some  odd  minutes 
instead.  The  boat  was  thoroughly  baptized,  and 
many  were  sick.  I  went  out  to  the  bow  rather  than 
stay  in  the  stuffy  cabin,  and  nothing  but  holding 
on  with  all  the  strength  I  possessed  kept  me  from 
being  washed  overboard.  Some  Scotchmen  sought 
this  place  also,  as  being  less  likely  to  be  wet,  but  a 
head-wind  in  her  teeth  caused  the  boat  to  perform 
all  kinds  of  antics,  and  so  for  the  nonce  we  were 
all  birds  of  a  feather.  Mackintoshes  kept  us  some- 
what dry,  but  just  as  we  turned  into  the  harbor  of 
Lough  Ryan  a  wave  covered  us,  and  "  Well,  you 
are  a  brave  little  woman  !  Where  do  you  come 
from  ?"  burst  from  them  in  chorus. 

"America,"  I  gasped,  as  I  shook  myself  some- 
what free  from  the  water. 

"We  thought  you  were  not  English,  didn't  we, 
Bob  ? "  said  a  red-faced  Sandy. 

"  And  I  thought  so,  too,"  I  answered,  "  when 
that  wave  struck  me,  for  I  felt  like  a  mermaid, 
and  didn't  know  for  a  moment  but  that  I'd  have 
to  be  one." 


106  A  S    WE    SA  W  IT  IN  '90. 

Despite  this  wetting,  I  caught  no  cold  and  spent 
a  peaceful  Sunday  at  Stranraer  at  the  hospitable 
"  George." 

As  far  as  food  and  attendance  goes,  one  is  glad 
to  be  through  with  Ireland,  but  some  peculiarities 
hold  here  as  there.  Your  "  Please  bring  me  some 
water,"  is  invariably  answered  by  "  Bilin',  Miss?" 
until  you  laugh  and  say,  "  No,  cold  for  drinking  !  " 
and  if  you  are  not  very  sharp  the  waiter  will  come 
with  a  pot  of  "  bilin',"  and  kindly  dilute  your  coffee 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  which  is  already  the 
essence  of  weakness  from  too  large  a  dose  of  chic- 
ory, bran,  beans,  and  everything  but  coffee.  How- 
ever, the  scenery,  antiquity  and  history  of  Great 
Britain  must  be  its  excuse  for  backwardness  and 
failings  in  a  great  many  particulars,  and  we  begin 
by  finding  the  Scotch  brogue  a  pleasant  change 
from  the  Irish,  and  enter  upon  our  Scotch  trip  with 
the  enthusiasm  due  to  fair  weather,  cool  breezes 
and  good  health. 


LETTER   VII. 
Burns   and   Scott. 

Scenes  Full  of  Recollections  of  their  Lives — Fine  Drives 
amid  the  Heather — Dumfries,  Melrose,  Abbots  ford,  the 
Falls  of  the  Clyde,  and  Tillietudlem  Castle. 

Glasgow,  July  14,  1890. 
Has  it  ever  occurred,  I  wonder,  to  any  of  the 
Courier  s  readers  how  satisfactory  it  would  be  if, 
after  enjoying  certain  roads  or  particular  streams, 
hills  or  valleys,  one  could  let  them  know  what  an 
amount  of  joy  they  had  given,  or  how  they  had 
even  exceeded  the  most  exalted  anticipation  ? 
Instead,  we  enjoy  giving  vent  to  exclamations  of 
pleasure  and  are  very  thankful  to  a  wise  Creator 
for  all  His  endowments  to  this  world  of  ours. 
These  thoughts  have  come  to  me  during  a  recent 
trip  planned  and  executed  successfully,  without 
the  aid  of  railway  officials'  advice,  but  with  plenty 
of  discouragement  from  them.  I  proposed  to  go 
from  Dumfries  to  Ayr  without  going  via  Kilmar- 
nock, Edinburgh,  or  Glasgow.  Every  railway  man 
I  asked  information  of  said  no  one  went  that  way, 


108  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

it  was  entirely  out  of  tourists'  routes.  "  Then  I 
will  do  it,  and  find  out  my  way  bit  by  bit,  which 
will  be  all  the  more  interesting,"  I  would  answer. 

From  Stranraer  to  Dumfries  we  passed  through 
a  most  interesting  country,  dotted  with  gems  of 
lochs,  being  often  within  sight  of  the  many  bays 
of  the  Solway  Firth.  From  this  part  of  Scotland 
come  the  huge  black  steeds  called  Galloways,  and 
in  the  train  we  found  the  change  in  the  people's 
speech  from  Irish  to  Scotch  quite  interesting. 

Once  in  Dumfries,  which  teems  with  memories 
of  Robert  Burns,  we  went  a  short  walk  from  the 
station  to  the  Globe  Inn,  where  Burns,  with  a  host 
of  friends,  had  spent  many  a  night  and  partaken  of 
many  a  meal.  It  is  found,  after  threading  a  white- 
washed and  very  clean  close  or  wynd,  and  passing 
through  its  quaint  grill-room  into  the  best  parlor, 
we  find  Burns's  chair  in  the  very  corner  he  used 
to  occupy.  Here  are  already  three  Scotch 
women  and  two  men.  The  eldest  of  the  latter 
rises  as  we  enter,  and,  taking  him  for  the  master 
of  the  house,  I  bid  him  good-day.  He  cordially 
shakes  me  by  the  hand  and  asks  me  to  be  seated. 
Before  doing  so  I  say:  "Can  you  give  us  some 
refreshments  ?  I  had  a  delicious  cup  of  tea  here 
once,  two  years  ago." 

Here  the  younger  man  speaks  up  with  :  "Hout, 
Davy,  man,  the  leddy  takes  ye  for  landlord." 


BURNS  AND   SCOTT.  io9 

"  And  is  he  not  ?  "     I  ask. 

"  Indeed  he  is  not ;  only  Davy  Thomson  of 
Dumfries,  who  has  brought  us  here  to  see  the 
place  where  R-r-rob-art  Bur-r-rns  used  to  live  lang 
syne  !  " 

My  mistake  caused  a  laugh  and  made  us  all 
acquainted.  That  Americans  should  care  for,  or 
even  know  about,  the  poet  seemed  to  surprise  as 
well  as  please  them,  and  when  some  of  us  quoted 
a  bit  they  went  into  ecstacies,  saying  they  believed 
we  liked  him  and  knew  him  better  than  English 
or  Scotch.  Of  course  we  all  sat  in  the  chair  by  the 
fireside  for  inspiration  and  went  up  to  Burns's  bed- 
room above,  to  see  the  window-panes  upon 
which  he  had  scratched  in  verse  the  following 
tribute  to  the  Globe  Inn  : 

"  Whatever  you  choose,  be  't  ale  or  beer, 
Or  whatever  fit  your  nob, 
At  moderate  fare,  you  may  have  here, 
The  best  that's  in  the  Globe." 

On  an  adjoining  pane  he  expressed  his  opinion 
in  this  way  regarding  some  rustic  beauty  : 

"O  lovely  Tolly  Stewart, 
O  charming  Polly  Stewart, 
There's  no  a  flower  that  blooms  in  May 
That's  half  so  fair  as  thou  art." 


no  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

And,  best  of  all,  we  discovered  a  different 
version  of  his  famous  "  Comin*  thro'  the  Rye"  : 

"  Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 
Comin'  thro'  the  grain, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 
The  thing's  a  body's  ain." 

After  this  Mr.  Thomson  (without  the  letter  p) 
warmed  to  the  subject,  and  told  some  very  inter- 
esting anecdotes  of  the  poet.  The  most  personal 
one  was  that  his  father  was  apprenticed  to  the 
man  who  made  Burns's  coffin,  and  that  when  the 
poet  was  reinterred  his  father  made  the  second 
coffin. 

After  the  ladies  had  generously  shared  some 
beautiful  roses  with  us,  we  parted  with  a  hand- 
shake all  around,  the  younger  man  telling  us,  as 
his  name  was  Adam,  his  wife's  name  was  Eve. 

After  this  we  visited  Burns's  grave,  covered  by 
a  mausoleum,  about  which  his  favorite  pink-tipped 
daisy  grew  in  wild  profusion  ;  also  the  house  in 
which  he  died,  now  occupied  by  the  principal  of 
an  industrial  school  for  boys. 

Not  far  from  here  in  the  churchyard  of  the 
Grey  Friars  Monastery,  is  a  new  building  in  place 
of  the  ancient  church  in  which  Bruce  slew  the 
Red  Comyn.  To  reach  it  we  pass  the  square  in 
which  is  Burns's  monument,  quite  the  most  satis- 


BURNS  AND    SCOTT.  in 

factory  one  yet  erected  to  his  memory.  In  front 
of  the  church  I  found  the  same  coachman  I  had 
employed  two  years  ago,  looking  just  as  natural 
and  as  pleased  to  see  me  as  if  only  hours  instead 
of  years  had  intervened  since  last  we  met. 

Dumfries  makes  me  think  of  the  sun  when  it 
shoots  forth  visible  rays  in  every  direction  as  it  is 
about  to  set.  From  it  diverge  many  roads,  but 
from  one  to  the  other  you  cannot  pass  unless  by 
returning  to  Dumfries  to  get  a  fresh  start.  This 
is  an  aggravating  state  of  affairs,  if  one  is  tied  to 
time  ;  but  if  not  it  is  a  very  pleasant  way  to  realize 
geography. 

One  of  these  roads  leads  to  the  grave  of 
Helen  Walker,  the  original  of  Jeanie  Deans, 
in  Scott's  famous  story ;  another  to  that  of 
"  Old  Mortality,"  who  rests  beneath  the  sod  in 
Caerlaverock  Churchyard.  This  we  decided  to 
visit,  and  were  further  interested  in  Caerlaverock 
village  and  church,  as  it  is  said  to  be  the  original 
of  Ellengowan  in  "  Guy  Mannering." 

With  pleasure  and  profit  we  might  have  con- 
tinued our  quest  to  Caerlaverock  Castle,  which 
stands  on  a  rock  at  times  quite  surrounded  by  the 
incoming  tide  of  the  Solway  Firth  ;  but  we  had 
planned  to  visit  New  or  Sweetheart  Abbey,  and 
back  we  go  again  to  the  heart  of  Dumfries.  Both 
of  these  drives  were  between  hedges  of  hawthorn, 


H2  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

in  the  absence  of  its  own  bloom  radiant  with  the 
blossoms  of  sweet  briar,  honeysuckle,  and  purple 
vetch,  which  climbed  in  profuse  unison,  while  the 
more  modest  yellow  vetch,  with  big-eyed  violets 
and  speedwell,  remained  by  the  roadside  in  com- 
panionship with  sweet  red  and  white  clover  and 
different  grasses. 

The  ruin  of  New  Abbey  is  not  large,  but  it  is 
especially  artistic,  and  the  added  sentiment  regard- 
ing the  burial  of  the  heart  of  Balliol,  here  in  the 
grave  of  his  devoted  wife,  the  founder,  inclines  us 
rather  to  call  it  Douce  Coeur  or  Sweetheart  Abbey, 
rather  than  New. 

Just  as  we  are  about  to  enter  it  a  summer 
shower  comes  up,  which  wets  the  dark  stone  of 
the  ruin,  bringing  out  its  color,  and,  with  every 
corner  and  arch  dripping,  we  investigate  its 
length  and  breadth. 

On  leaving  we  discover  it  is  supper-time,  and, 
while  waiting  for  our  coachman  to  return  from 
baiting  his  horse,  we  step  into  the  rose-covered 
porch  of  a  modest  cottage  close  at  hand.  Hearing 
our  chatter,  the  owner  comes  to  the  door  and 
cordially  invites  us  in.  Of  course  we  accept,  and 
in  some  mysterious  way  she  finds  out  we  are 
hungry,  and  almost  before  we  know  it  supper  is 
served.  Boiled  eggs,  delicious  strawberry  jam, 
tea,  cold  lamb,  and  cold  biscuit ! 


BURNS   AND    SCOTT.  113 

"Could  we  have  them  split  in  half  and  toasted  ?  " 
I  ask. 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  she  answers. 

As  they  don't  come  in  fast  enough  for  our 
voracity,  I  take  the  liberty  of  going  out  into  the 
kitchen,  and,  of  course,  that  seems  to  hurry  mat- 
ters to  those  waiting  in  the  dining-room. ' 

How  hungry  we  are  !  Yet  not  so  much  so  that 
we  cannot  notice  the  wax  wreaths  which  have 
served  on  several  funeral  occasions,  in  memo- 
riams,  printed  in  very  black  type  in  shape  of  a 
tombstone,  and  family  groups  hanging  about  the 
wall. 

Just  as  we  finish,  our  driver  appears,  and  back 
we  go  to  Dumfries,  between  dripping  hedges,  and 
over  a  decidedly  dust-laid  road. 

How  much  was  our  supper,  do  you  ask  ?  Well, 
our  hostess  would  not  take  but  a  shilling  per  head 
(twenty-five  cents  of  our  money),  and  so  we  felt 
able  to  invest  in  some  photographs  of  the  village 
miller,  who  kept  the  Abbey  keys,  and  lived  in  the 
high  street  hard  by. 

I  am  sure  no  one  would  regret  giving  one  week 
to  Dumfries  and  vicinity,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if 
this  hasty  sketch  of  what  we  did  in  a  few  hours 
should  induce  anyone  so  to  do. 

At  7.15  we  find  a  train  that  will  take  us  to 
Moffat  via  Lockerby  and  Beattock,  making  direct 


114  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

connections,  but  changing  twice.  Over  here  they 
shunt  their  passengers  and  not  their  cars.  This  is 
most  enjoyable,  as  one  must  run  about  and  see  if 
one's  luggage  has  been  also  transferred. 

As  the  summer  shower  went  before  us,  we  find 
Moffat  clean-washed,  and  the  quietest  spot  in  the 
world. 

Its  main  avenue  is  very  broad,  and  the  town 
reminds  one  of  Palmyra,  N.  Y.  The  Buccleuch 
Arms,  which  we  choose,  has  just  gone  into  new 
hands,  and  is  spic-span  new  throughout,  and  with 
only  the  delay  a  cup  of  tea  and  delicious  toast  will 
occasion,  we  are  soon  in  bed  and  asleep. 

In  the  morning  we  take  a  stroll  up  to  the  post- 
office,  which  gives  us  a  chance  to  see  the  beaux 
and  belles  on  their  way  to  drink  the  water  of  the 
saline  well. 

Again  we  say,  how  quiet  it  is  ?  Indeed  a  person 
weary  of  noise  and  bustle  would  do  well  to  seek 
out  Moffat,  for  it  is  in  every  way  suited  to  calm 
a  tired  mind. 

Its  grand  trees,  its  life-giving  springs,  its  near- 
ness to  so  much  that  is  historic,  made  a  great 
impression  upon  us,  and  especially  do  we  remem- 
ber that  the  manager  of  its  bank  gave  us  money 
on  our  letter  of  credit,  despite  the  fact  that  his 
bank  was  not  a  correspondent  of  Brown,  Shipley 
&   Co.     But  the  oft-sung  beauties  of   St.  Mary's 


BURNS  AND   SCOTT.  115 

Loch  are  still  unknown  to  us,  and,  although  it 
looks  like  rain,  we  take  outside  seats  and  prepare 
for  a  day's  drive.  The  first  half  of  the  journey  is 
a  succession  of  surprises.  In  the  first  place,  the 
sun  comes  out ;  secondly,  we  have  a  gentlemanly 
Scotchman  on  the  seat  ahead  of  us  who  is  going 
to  his  childhood's  home  and  knows  every  inch  of 
the  country  perfectly  ;  and  thirdly,  the  recent  rain 
has  filled  all  the  streams,  which  come  tumbling 
over  the  rocks  on  both  sides  of  the  road  to  the 
Moffat.  This  river,  but  a  stream  itself,  grows 
beautifully  less  as  we  approach  its  source,  despite 
reinforcements  from  a  really  high  and  turbulent 
waterfall  called  the  Grey  Mare's  Tail. 

We  descend  and  walk  up  to  it,  over  hills  quite 
destitute  of  trees,  but  covered  with  a  variety  of 
lichens  and  quantities  of  parsley  fern,  as  well  as 
many  wild  flowers. 

About  one  mile  further,  upon  the  top  of  a  brae, 
stands  the  home  of  our  traveling  companion.  His 
father,  very  old  but  still  erect,  with  visage  stern, 
comes  out  to  water  our  horses,  barely  nodding  to 
his  son,  but  the  mother  is  in  the  doorway  to  greet 
him,  and  he  forms  a  conspicuous  figure  among  the 
other  homespun  members  of  the  family,  clad  as  he 
is  in  clothes  of  a  stylish  cut.  Directly  in  front  of 
their  door,  across  the  road,  is  a  bit  of  marshy 
ground.     In  this  rise  both  the  Moffat  and  Yarrow, 


n6  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  latter  going  north,  the  former,  as  I  have  shown 
you,  flowing  south.  Not  a  house  is  to  be  seen  on 
any  side,  but  instead,  everywhere  hills,  covered 
with  sheep  and  heather. 

As  we  descend,  following  the  Yarrow,  we  find  a 
few  homes,  but  they  are  far  between. 

"  Where  do  you  bury  your  dead  ?  "  I  asked  of 
the  driver. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  Miss,  to  tell  the  truth  ;  our 
people  live  forever." 

Hence  we  have  christened  the  mound-like  lime- 
kilns, we  see  from  time  to  time,  family  vaults,  and 
many  a  merry  smile  have  we  raised  upon  the 
usually  grim  visages  of  our  different  drivers  by  the 
inquiry  when  one  was  seen  by  the  roadside  : 
"  Driver,  is  that  a  family  vault  ?  " 

At  last  we  get  a  glimpse  of  St.  Mary's  Loch,  the 
lake  which  Hogg,  Wordsworth,  Scott,  and  many 
other  poets  have  celebrated  in  prose  and  verse,  and 
find  it  every  whit  as  beautiful  as  they  did,  when 
once  we  are  in  plain  sight  of  it.  With  a  flourish 
our  coachman  brings  us  up  in  front  of  Tibbie 
Shiel's  cottage,  which,  although  its  owner  has  been 
dead  eleven  years,  yet  bears  her  name,  and  which 
by  any  other  name  would  not  be  one-half  so  sweet. 
Her  son,  George  Richardson,  who  succeeded  his 
mother  upon  her  death  in  1879,  was  sitting  in  the 
kitchen,  family  sitting-room,  and  former  bedroom 


BURNS  AND    SCOTT.  117 

of  his  mother,  as  we  entered.  This  was  just  the 
room  we  had  wished  to  see,  and  he  was  amused  at 
our  exclamations  as  we  investigated  the  fireplace, 
the  ceiling,  and  finally  the  beds  built  into  the  wall. 
A  halt  of  two  hours  or  more  enabled  us  to  see  the 
very  appropriate  statue  erected  to  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  in  the  high  road  and  enjoy  a  real  Scotch- 
cooked  dinner. 

Our  second  stage  of  the  journey  was  made  lively 
by  a  most  intelligent  driver,  a  character  in  fact, 
by  name  Robert  Wallace,  and  he  kept  our  heads 
turning  one  way  or  the  other  every  moment  until 
Selkirk  was  reached,  as  he  pointed  out  a  hiding- 
place  of  the  Covenanters,  a  ruined  tower,  a  Roman 
bridge,  or  what  not,  all  through  the  Vale  of  Yarrow. 
In  fact,  the  whole  day  was  a  delight,  even  the 
broom  being  in  full  flower  here,  which  made  the 
road-banks  a  glare  of  yellow. 

At  Selkirk,  which  stands  on  a  hill,  we  had  tea, 
and  by  8.30  o'clock  were  settled  at  the  Abbey 
Hotel  in  Melrose. 

This  is  the  most  central  place  from  which  to 
visit  Abbotsford  and  Dryburgh,  but,  if  one  has 
plenty  of  time,  Kelso  is  a  more  interesting  town 
and  quite  as  near  Dryburgh.  Its  ruined  abbey 
was  the  childhood's  idol  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Tweed  he  spent  many  an 
hour  reading  "  Percy's  Reliques,"  the  very  copies 


iiS  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

he  used  being  still  in  the  town  library.  I  went 
there  for  a  night  and  could  have  remained  a  week, 
so  comfortable  was  I  at  the  Queen's  Head,  quite 
a  different  place  from  the  extravagant  and  poorly 
kept  Abbey  Hotel  at  Melrose.  From  Kelso  one 
can  also  go  up  and  down  the  Tweed,  the  Teviot, 
or  the  Jed.  In  fact,  the  place  is  full  of  history, 
turn  where  you  will,  and  satisfies  and  gratifies 
one's  love  of  the  poetic,  artistic,  or  historic. 

The  evening  of  our  arrival  at  Melrose  the  sun 
had  set  in  gorgeous  clouds,  and  from  9  o'clock 
until  10.30  we  wandered  about  the  Abbey,  whose 
spans  and  arches  were  most  entrancing  in  the 
twilight,  which  never  seems  to  leave  the  sky  until 
daybreak  comes  with  its  decided  light  again  at 
about  3.30  o'clock. 

On  our  way  to  Abbotsford,  the  next  morning,  we 
passed  through  Darnick,  which  still  has  a  Border 
or  Peel  Tower  few  tourists  ever  see  on  account  of 
the  uniform  ignorance  of  Melrose  coachmen,  but 
which  is  not  only  picturesque  but  unique. 

Abbotsford,  I  would  like  to  assure  all  tourists, 
has  not  been  sold  by  Mrs.  Maxwell  Scott,  as  has 
been  asserted  in  all  the  papers.  It  has  only  been 
rented  for  a  term  of  years,  and  that  part  sacred 
to  her  famous  ancestor  is  as  available  to  the  public 
(upon  payment  of  the  open  sesame  shilling)  as 
ever  it  was. 


BURNS  AND    SCOTT.  119 

Our  party  fortunately  only  had  added  to  it 
three  Scotch  women,  and  Flynn,  the  usually 
gruff  custodian,  was  a  perfect  dear  upon  the 
occasion,  allowing  us  to  linger  in  the  rooms, 
answering  questions  with  patience,  and  finally 
allowing  us  to  go  out  into  the  front  entrance  court, 
from  which  we  could  see  the  grand  doorway,  and 
the  grave  of  faithful  and  much-loved  Maida.  The 
Scotch  women  were  in  a  state  of  exclamation,  and 
as  we  turned  to  go  out  Flynn  informed  them  they 
must  consider  themselves  in  luck,  and  thank  the 
Yankee  lady  who  had  had  her  way  about  seeing 
everything  that  morning  that  he  "  never  showed 
no  one." 

"  Have  you  never  been  here  before  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No,  and  we  live  in  Edinburgh,  too,  if  you'll 
believe  it,"  they  answered. 

"Of  course  you  have  read  all  of  Scott's  novels," 
I  ventured  to  inquire. 

"  No,  we  have  not ;  but  now,  I  dare  say,  we  will 
do  so,  having  been  here." 

Even  this  great  poet  is  not  without  honor  still, 
you  see  ! 

On  our  way  back  to  Dryburgh  we  stopped  and 
walked  up  the  Fairy  Glen  or  Ellawyland  Scott  has 
used  so  picturesquely  in  "The  Monastery,"  and 
then  continued  our  drive,  via  Gattonside  and 
Bemerside.     In  the  former  town  are  raised  quan- 


120  AS    WE  SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

tities  of  fruit.  One  house,  before  which  we  stopped 
to  buy  strawberries  and  cherries,  had  its  entire 
front  hidden  by  a  cherry-tree,  trained  flat  against 
the  plaster,  and  the  fruit,  which  hung  in  profusion 
upon  it,  was  protected  from  birds  by  a  huge  net 
stretched  over  it  from  end  to  end. 

The  rest  of  our  drive  from  here  to  Dryburgh 
was  the  realization  of  a  dream,  for  over  this  very 
road  Scott  had  often  ridden,  and  by  it  his  funeral 
cortege  wended  its  way  to  his  last  resting-place. 
It  is  not  the  usual  way,  however,  to  get  to  Dry- 
burgh, because  Bemerside  Hill  is  a  long  pull,  but 
insistence  helps  one  to  many  a  victory,  and  when 
we  had  reached  the  very  hill  upon  which  Sir  Walter 
used  to  rest  his  pony  while  he  drank  in  the  view, 
we  felt  nearer  to  him  than  ever  before.  Here  was 
no  change.  The  Tweed,  lying  in  sinuous  beauty, 
could  be  traced  as  far  as  Galashiels.  The  Eildon 
hills  stood  sharply  out,  green  from  top  to  toe,  and 
beyond,  silent  and  ruined,  was  Dryburgh.  What 
could  we  have  asked  for  more  ! 

For  several  hours  we  wandered  about  Dryburgh, 
while  dozens  of  parties  were  shoo-ed  through  it  by 
the  guide  in  order  to  catch  a  train.  Having  plenty 
of  time,  we  found  some  most  curious  grave-stones 
in  the  cemetery  close  at  hand,  which  had  rudely- 
cut  figures  upon  them  reading  or  singing  from 
a  book. 


BURNS  AND   SCOTT.  121 

Our  next  journey  was  to  Galashiels,  the  busiest 
town  of  its  size  in  the  world,  where  we  visited  one 
of  the  largest  and  oldest  tweed  manufactories, 
owned  by  the  Messrs.  Cochrane.  A  member  of 
the  firm  most  politely  took  us  about,  and  we 
saw  the  entire  process,  from  the  washing  of  the 
dirty  wool  to  the  coloring,  carding,  weaving  and 
finishing. 

In  the  station  we  saw  one  of  that  wonderful  race 
of  fish-wives  for  which  the  neighborhood  of  Edin- 
boro'  is  famous.  She  was  a  perfect  picture,  from 
her  white-frilled  cap  to  her  woolen-stockinged  legs, 
with  her  skirts  quite  above  the  ankles  and  an  outer 
dress  pinned  at  the  hips,  so  as  to  form  a  V-shape 
in  front.  Her  Scotch  was  full  of  the  essence  of 
broadness,  and  her  name,  Robina  Miller  Richie,  she 
told  us  was  R-r-rob-e-na-Meal-ler  A-R-r-retchey. 
She  had  also  been  a  widow  these  twelve  years, 
she  said,  her  husband  leaving  her,  when  he  was 
drowned  at  sea,  with  five  children  and  one  to  bear. 
These  she  had  brought  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord, 
and  sent  them  all  to  school  by  selling  haddies  for 
twenty-five  years  every  day  in  Galashiels.  Her 
face  was  handsome  still  beneath  show-white  hair, 
although  she  was  but  fifty.  How  I  wish  I  could 
give  you  her  exact  words,  gestures,  and  pronun- 
ciation, during  our  conversation.  Finding  we  were 
from  America  she  asked  if  we  would  shake  hands 


122  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

with  her,  and  when  I  told  her  I  had  crossed  the 
ocean  three  times,  she  straightened  herself  up,  and 
replied  :  "  Ma  dear-r-r,  ya  cud  na  do  that  onless 
the  dear-r-r  Lard  was  wi'  ye,  mind  thet !  "  Last 
of  all  she  offered  us  some  "  Caller  haddies  very 
chep."  "  See  Peter's  mar-r-k  'pon  them  of  his 
thumb,"  she  said,  by  way  of  inducement,  but  we 
explained  we  had  no  home  at  present,  and  satisfied 
her  with  a  few  pennies,  as  a  peace-offering  instead. 

Between  this  adventure  and  reading  the  adver- 
tisements, we  whiled  away  the  time  until  our 
train  was  due.  The  competition  in  tea  here  is 
immense,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  advertise- 
ments. "  Everyone  should  drink  Mazawatte,  from 
Ceylon,"  we  are  told.  And  as  in  the  hotels  we 
find  the  tea  bitter  and  boiled,  we  have  taken  to 
calling  it  the  "  Waz-a-mattee  with  it  "  brand. 

At  Innerleithen  we  stopped  merely  for  the  sake 
of  seeing  the  historic  Traquair  House,  a  short 
drive  out  of  town,  but  we  lost  our  hearts  to  pretty 
Mrs.  McPherson  at  the  Traquair  Arms,  when  we 
engaged  our  carriage,  and  concluded  to  remain 
the  night  there  instead  of  in  Peebles.  Our  supper 
was  really  home-like,  everything\  delicious,  and 
again  fried  potatoes,  without  asking  for  them. 
After  supper  Mrs.  McPherson  directed  us  how  to 
walk  to  St.  Ronan's  Well,  and  upon  our  return 
took  us  through  their  fine  stables,  containing  many 


BURNS  AND    SCOTT.  123 

horses  and  all  kinds  of  traps,  and  finally  invited 
us  to  see  a  game  of  bowls  in  the  club  grounds  of 
which  her  husband  was  a  member.  Within  sight 
and  sound  of  our  hotel,  a  band  of  village  youths 
were  giving  an  evening  concert.  The  leader  was 
paid  by  the  town  to  teach  them,  and  really  the  music 
was  quite  reviving.  My  advice  to  all  is,  do  visit 
Innerleithen.  The  old  saline  spring,  still  fashion- 
able, is  drinkable,  the  town  quiet,  the  Traquair 
Arms  home-like,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McPherson, 
the  kindest  of  friends,  will  plan  no  end  of  excur- 
sions for  you  about  this,  the  most  interesting  part 
of  Scotland. 

Early  next  morning  we  were  off  for  Peebles, 
employing  the  two  hours  there  before  leaving  for 
Lanark,  in  visiting  its  two  ruined  churches  and 
Cross  Key's  Inn,  the  original  of  "  Meg  Dod's  "  in 
"  St.  Ronan's  Well,"  and  from  the  Caledonian 
station  getting  a  fine  view  of  Niedpath  Castle  on 
the  Tweed. 

At  the  post-office  I  asked  if  there  was  any  mail 
for  me. 

"  Any  what  ? "  asked  the  man  in  charge. 

"  Mail,"  I  answered. 

At  this  he  turned  and  consulted  with  six  men  at 
work  with  letters,  and  returning  said  : 

"  Do  you  mean  letters  and  newspapers?" 


124  AS    YVE    SAHr  IT  IN  '90. 

''Yes,"  I  answered,  rather  impatiently.  "What 
else  could  I  mean  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  shoo-ah,"  he  replied,  "but 
we  don't  call  them  by  that  name  he-ah." 

As  I  took  my  departure  I  wondered  if  they  called 
themselves  males  they-ar. 

I  was  very  glad  to  be  once  more  on  the  Cale- 
donian Railway,  which  we  had  left  at  Moffat,  for 
by  close  questioning  I  had  discovered  there  was 
great  rivalry  between  it  and  the  North  British, 
and  that  officials  of  the  latter  road  were  not 
allowed  Caledonian  time-tables.  Hence  if  I  wished 
to  get  to  Lanark  from  Melrose  they  would  send 
me  to  Glasgow  and  down  to  Lanark  ;  or  if  I 
wanted  Ayr  they  would  send  me  via  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow,  instead  of  letting  me  dream  there 
was  any  other  way  just  within  my  reach.  Thus 
when  Lanark  was  reached,  without  the  aid  of  the 
North  British  roads,  we  felt  we  deserved  to  be 
congratulated. 

The  best  way  to  see  the  Falls  of  the  Clyde  from 
Lanark  is  to  arrange  for  your  own  conveyance,  if 
with  a  party.  Otherwise  you  will  have  to  abide 
the  time  of  the  coaching  trips,  which  are  just  as 
expensive.  The  first  two  falls,  Bonnington  and 
Corra  Linn,  are  most  beautiful  and  thirty  and 
eighty-five  feet  high.  The  walk  up  the  glen  to 
them  is  easily  accomplished,  as  there  are  plenty  of 


BURNS  AND    SCOTT.  125 

resting-places,  and  Wallace's  Cave  can  also  be 
seen  en  route.  In  fact,  this  district  teems  with 
memories  of  Wallace  gained  in  childhood  from 
the  "  Scottish  Chiefs."  The  second  fall  is  in 
another  direction  further  down  the  Clyde,  and  the 
drive  to  it  takes  one  through  the  garden  of 
Scotland.  The  hills  are  covered  with  strawberries 
and  vegetables,  and  the  fall  of  Stonebyres,  sixty- 
eighth  feet  high,  has  enough  beauty  to  recom- 
mend "it  to  the  tourist. 

At  Crossfords  my  friends  left  me  to  return  to 
Ayr  while  I  made  a  most  unique  excursion,  viz.: 
between  high  hedges,  up,  up,  up  a  brae,  I 
reached  a  high  road.  From  time  to  time  I  met 
miners,  wearing  hats  with  a  lamp  in  the  front,  who 
bowed  in  passing  and  remarked  that  it  was  a  fine 
day.  The  road  led  me  into  a  glen,  much  like  that 
at  Watkins,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  I 
climbed  through  this,  utterly  alone  but  for  the 
birds  and  stream,  and  creeping  things  with  which 
it  teemed.  The  trees  were  old  and  moss-grown, 
and  where  one  had  died  ivy  had  covered  it  over 
and  quite  buried  it  from  sight  in  a  generous 
embrace. 

At  last  I  reached  my  goal,  Tillietudlem,  or,  more 
properly,  Craignethan  Castle,  which  first  name 
Sir  Walter  Scott  is  responsible  for  in  his  "  Old 
Mortality."     It  is  the  grandest  ruin  I  ever  visited, 


126  AS    WE    SAW   IT  IN   '90. 

and  reaching  it  by  such  a  romantic  path  made  it 
all  the  more  charming.  A  very  ancient  house  in 
the  huge  court-yard  is  inhabited  by  the  keeper  em- 
ployed by  the  Earl  of  Home  who  owns  it;  and  after 
a  look  about,  his  wife  served  me  a  homelike  tea 
in  the  quaintest  old  kitchen,  while  she  sat  sewing 
in  a  mediaeval  window  near  by  ready  to  do  my 
bidding.  "  Granny,"  the  cat,  with  her  little  grand- 
child, of  whom  she  said,  "  She  does  na  need  any- 
body till  amuse  her  ;  she's  no  the  least  pettit  or 
trouble,"  played  by  the  hearth  of  a  curious  old 
fire-place,  and  only  the  need  of  being  in  Glasgow 
that  night  ever  made  me  leave  such  a  peaceful 
scene.  I  truly  envied  the  artists  at  work  in  the 
twilight,  as  I  wended  my  way  past  a  huge  coal 
mine  to  Tillietudlem  station. 

Just  before  the  train  arrived  three  English 
people,  who  had  been  on  our  coach  to  the  falls 
that  day,  came  panting  into  the  station.  A  smile 
of  recognition  passed  between  us. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  Castle?"     I  asked. 

"What  Castle?"  they  exclaimed,  "we've  come 
all  the  way  through  the  glen  but  saw  no  Castle  !  " 

"  Did  you  not  know  of  it  ?  "     I  asked. 

"  No  ;    was  it  worth  visiting  ?  " 

"  Well,  its  what  I  went  through  the  glen  for, 
otherwise  I  never  should  have  taken  such  a 
tramp,"  I  replied. 


BURArS  AND    SCOTT.  127 

"Oh  de-ar,"  they  puffed  out,  "how  very  pro- 
voking !  " — and  just  here  the  train  took  them  up 
out  of  my  sight. 

Glasgow  was  reached  through  blazing  skies.  On 
either  side  of  the  train  were  hundreds  of  furnaces 
at  work,  and  one  might  almost  imagine  one  was 
appoaching  the  infernal  regions.  In  fact  Glasgow 
is  rather  a  wicked  city  in  the  lower  parts,  even 
more  wicked  than  London,  they  tell  me,  and  yet 
I  found  the  West  End  knows  little  of  what  the 
East  End  doeth. 


LETTER    VIII. 
The   Scottish    Lakes. 

Mountains  and  Valleys  of  Romantic  and  Historic  Interest — 
A  Delightful  Old  Coachman — Regions  where  the  people 
Talk  Gaelic  Alone  to  their  Horses. 

Dunkeld,  Scotland,  August  13.  1890. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  say,  "  Buy  guide-books 
and  study  them,  when  preparing  for  a  trip." 
Indeed,  I  know  this  is  quite  an  English  fashion  ; 
but  after  all,  more  information  can  be  obtained  in 
one  conversation  from  a  real  live  and  intelligent 
traveler,  who  has  been  over  the  ground  you  antici- 
pate doing,  than  many  days  of  research  for  your- 
self could  ever  yield.  He  tells  you  what  hotels 
full  of  pitfalls  to  avoid,  or  what  ones  to  be  sure 
to  employ,  what  routes  give  you  the  best  scenery 
for  the  most  reasonable  sum,  and  about  those  that 
are  exorbitant  and  fatiguing.  And  when,  having 
heeded  well  his  words,  your  excursion  turns  out 
a  perfect  one,  you  congratulate  yourself  upon 
having  the  good  fortune  to  encounter  such  an 
intelligent  Britain  abroad. 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  129 

In  this   letter  I  shall    give  a  few  pen-on-paper 

etchings  of   a  most  enjoyable   Scotch   trip  made 

under  blue  skies,  with  plenty  of  sunshine  and  cool 

weather.     The  only  drawback   was  the  continual 

holiday  excursions,  which,  whenever  we  employed 

the    railway,  crowded    us  and   tried   our  tempers. 

If  the  people  only  went  for  a  picnic,  one  would 

gladly   sympathize   with    them   in    the  event,    but 

when  their  vacation  is  made  up  of  drunkenness,  as 

noticeable  in  the  highways  as  by-ways,  it  gets  to 

be   a   matter    for   serious   contemplation,    and    of 

regret  that  we  are  here  during  July  rather  than 

August. 

*  * 

* 

Glasgow  has  much  to  offer  for  the  entertainment 
of  a  stranger,  both  in  itself  and  neighborhood, 
turn  towards  whatever  point  of  the  compass  he 
may.  A  quiet  Bath  street  lodging  gives  one  home 
comforts,  if  the  choice  is  a  fortunate  one.  Your 
landlady  wears  inimitable  caps  and  antique  gowns 
and  has  an  indescribable  speech  and  manner  that 
the  absence  of  all  but  one  tooth,  which  swings  in 
her  upper  jaw,  does  not  detract  from.  You  buy 
your  own  dinner  if  you  choose,  or  she  does  it  for 
you  and  gives  you  the  bill  ;  and  furthermore  you 
may  superintend  the  cooking  thereof. 

Instead  of  the  everlasting  mutton,  cabbage,  and 
sweets  (pastry),  you  wisely  order  what  Scott  called 


130  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  the  statutory  dainties  of  old  England,"  roast  beef 
and  pudding  (Yorkshire,  after  your  own  recipe), 
peas,  artichokes,  salad,  and  red  raspberries,  or 
rasps,  as  they  are  called  here  for  short.  This 
repast  at  a  hotel  table  d'hdte  would  cost  four 
people  twenty  English  shillings.  In  Bath  street 
lodgings  it  costs  them  less  than  half  that. 


The  Sauchiehall  Street  Cyclorama  of  Bannock- 
burn  takes  one  back  to  the  days  of  Bruce,  and  is 
a  happy  preparation  for  a  visit  to  Stirling.  One 
old  woman  was  so  charmed  with  the  entire  scene 
that  she  informed  her  good  man  in  an  earnest 
whisper  she'd  like  to  remain  there  for  ever. 
"  Weel,"  he  replied,  "  if  ye'll  do  so,  Jeanie,  I'll 
ne'er  grudge  the  saxpence  it  cost  me  to  get  ye 
in."  Connected  with  it  was  a  restaurant  that 
furnished  well-cooked  food  and  really  good  coffee 
for  a  modest  sum. 


A  morning  spent  in  Forrester's  antique  book 
shop  is  a  perfect  treat.  Name  any  book,  no 
matter  how  old  or  rare  the  edition,  and  you  have 
it  at  once  in  your  hand.  He  knows  you  can't 
purchase,  and  tells  you  he  would  rather  talk  and 
show  books  to  an  interested  person  than  sell  them 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  131 

to  one  who  is  ignorant,  so  you   feel  comfortable, 
at  least,  and  enjoy  the  treat  to  the  top  of  your 

bent. 

*  * 
* 

The  three  frolicsome  falls  of  the  Clyde  have 
here  assumed  magnificent  proportions,  for  a  Scotch 
river,  and  upon  its  tide,  the  Clotha  (Clyde)  line  of 
swift  steam-yachts  bears  one  to  the  sea.  These 
can  be  boarded  at  any  of  its  bridges,  the  fee  a 
penny,  and  one  must  gaze  quickly  upon  both 
banks  in  order  not  to  miss  the  Broomielaw,  against 
which  are  moored  the  Anchor  and  State  Line 
steamships,  an  old  training-ship  used  as  a  reform- 
atory for  boys,  a  new  horse  ferry-boat,  named 
Fanniston,  just  launched,  with  its  double  deck, 
looking  not  unlike  a  house  afloat,  and  myriads  of 
other  craft  from  every  country  on  the  globe. 

*  * 
* 

Through  the  middle  of  the  stream,  ships  heavy 
with  freight  are  being  towed  to  the  sea.  As  we 
dart  in  and  out  between  these,  to  land  and  take 
on  passengers,  a  distant  murmur  is  heard,  which 
increases  as  the  river  becomes  broader.  A  million 
anvil  choruses  could  not  drown  it  now,  for  'tis 
the  song  of  the  building  of  the  ship,  whose 
melody  cheers  the  heart  of  many  a  man.  See,  on 
either   hand,    ships    in    all    stages,    from   start    to 


132  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

finish,  as  profound  mysteries  to  us  as  the  making 
of  a  bonnet  from  bits  of  wire,  foundation,  lace 
and  ribbon  would  be  .  to  a  ship-builder.  The 
last  yard  contains  the  Phranang  ready  to  be 
launched  on  the  morrow,  complete  as  to  hulk 
only.  For  the  carpenter-work  to  be  put  on  her, 
she  will  take  the  place  in  a  neighboring  dock  of  a 
beauty  ready  to  sail.  A  whistle  announces  the 
dinner  hour  !  In  a  moment  all  is  silent,  while 
thousands  of  men  prepare  to  refresh  themselves. 
The  wonderful  magnitude  of  this  industry  can  be 
judged  of  only  by  a  visit. 


Approaching  Loch  Lomond  from  Glasgow,  via 
Balloch  pier,  we  find  its  watch-dog,  Ben  Lomond, 
and  all  the  other  Bens  as  far  as  Ben  More,  reful- 
gent in  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun.  So  much 
beauty  in  one  glance  is  like  a  thunder-clap, 
bewildering.  The  moving  boat  changes  the  scene 
momently,  until  past  the  islands  we  reach  Luss 
and  Tarbet,  which  brings  us  directly  under  Ben 
Lomond.  At  Inversnaid  we  see  his  three  neigh- 
bors across  the  stream  in  perfection,  the  Messrs. 
Vorlich,  Vane  and  Crois,  all  Scotchmen,  and  not 
to  be  beguiled  from  their  stations. 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  133 

From  here  until  Ardlui  we  have  the  boat  to 
ourselves.  This  part  of  the  lake,  its  head,  is 
seldom  seen  by  tourists,  as  all  excursions  stop  at 
Inversnaid.  Hence  the  delight  of  being  a  night 
there.  Its  days  of  quiet  are  nearly  passed,  how- 
ever, for  I  grieve  to  relate  the  fact  that  a  railway 
is  being  laid  along  Loch  Lomond's  western  bank, 
and  as  soon  as  the  neigh  of  the  iron  horse  is 
heard  in  this  land,  in  his  train  will  follow  that  kind 
of  civilization  antagonistic  to  ruralness  and  peace. 

*  * 
* 

Come  with  me  to  the  beach  and  watch  the  sun- 
set clouds  with  your  face  towards  Ben  Lomond. 
See  how  long  the  twilight  is  in  fading,  and  how 
the  mist  falls  upon  the  head  of  this  mountain  hero 
until  it  covers  him  from  our  sight.  No  wonder  he 
finds  it  time  to  go  to  bed,  for  it  is  ten  o'clock  ! 

*  * 

* 

Inversnaid  at  eight-thirty  in  the  morning  is  quite 
another  town  from  what  it  was  with  the  sunset 
glow  upon  it.  Ben  Lomond,  too,  is  in  shadow. 
Let  us  cross  the  lake,  rowed  by  a  brawny  old 
Scotchman  of  Clan  Campbell,  aged  seventy,  to 
visit  Inveruglas  Isle,  and  thus  see  the  town  from 
there.  This  was  once  the  headquarters  of  Clan 
Macfarlane,  and  upon  it  are  the  ruins  of  their 
feudal  castle.     Would   we   knew  the    language   of 


134  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  mountains,  that  we  might  ask  the  three  Scotch 
gentlemen,  mentioned  above,  to  tell  us  the  tale  of 
this  clan's  rise  and  downfall.  These  very  hills 
have  seen  Rob  Roy  McGregor  engaged  in  warfare 
with  the  Macfarlanes,  his  bitter  enemies,  and  yet, 
pigmies  that  we  are,  we  have  no  key  to  their  store- 
house of  knowledge. 

*  * 

* 

Inversnaid  Hotel  at  ten  o'clock  is  the  busiest 
spot  on  the  lake.  On  the  boat  from  Glasgow 
come  a  crowd  of  tourists,  mostly  Americans. 
They  must  lose  all  the  beauty  of  the  scene  in  a 
mad  scrimmage  for  front  or  next  best  seats  on 
the  coaches,  and  what  with  worry  over  luggage 
the  journey  is  begun  before  they  have  time  to  look 
about.  We  have  calmly  viewed  the  waterfall  at 
one  side,  Loch  Arklet's  outlet  and  Rob  Roy's 
Cave  upon  the  other,  and  secured  front  seats  with 
the  most  picturesque  and  best-natured  coachman 
in  the  world,  one  whose  civility  and  kindness 
caused  him  to  be  remembered  for  years,  to  wit : 
Sandy  Clelland.  At  ten  o'clock  he  scrambles  to 
his  box,  as  spry  as  a  squirrel,  despite  his  sixty 
odd  years,  and  presenting  me  with  a  gorgeous 
Gloire-de-Dijon  rose,  plucked  from  the  hedge, 
snaps  his  whip,  gives  his  peculiar  call  of  hip-skid- 
dish,  ending  in  an  inimitable  whistle  to  his  horses, 
and  we  are  off. 


THE    SCOTTISH  LAKES.  135 

On  the  heathy  moors  is  seen  a  gamekeeper's 
exhibit  of  "varmin,  Miss,"  as  Sandy  calls  them, 
for  each  head  of  which  he  gets  a  price.  Here  is 
a  list  of  them,  with  the  game  of  which  they  are 
the  enemies  : 


GAME. 

ENEMIES. 

Hare. 

Buzzard. 

Grouse. 

Haddie. 

Woodcock. 

Hawk. 

Blackcock. 

Piet. 

Pheasant. 

Weasel  (pro.  whisle). 

Snipe. 

Fox. 

Duck. 

Badger. 

Capper  Kelzie. 

Pole  cat. 

Pigeon. 

Wild  cat. 

The  former  hang  along  a  pole,  looking  very 
dead.  This  shooting  belongs  to  the  Duke  of 
Montrose,  which  he  lets,  as  well  as  Loch  Arklet, 
in  which  are  many  trout. 

*  * 
* 

Helen  McGregor's  house,  nestled  in  the  side  of 

the   hill   near  Glen  Arklet,  causes  every  head  to 

turn  in  that  direction.     I  wondered  if  she  would 

have  been  at  all  known  to  us,  had  Sir  Walter  Scott 

never  written. 

*  * 

* 

Look  with  me  to  the  east  and  see  Ben  Venue 
and    then    Ben  Ledi  (pronounced    Lady).     Sandy 


136  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

points  them  out  with  pride  and  pleasure,  and  I 
believe  he  is  as  genuine  as  if  he  had  not  done  this 
excursion  every  summer  for  over  twenty  years. 
Near  the  road  is  the  house  of  our  whilom  boat- 
man, who  has  walked  to  Inversnaid,  two  miles,  and 
back  every  day  for  thirty-five  years,  and,  despite 
his  age,  has  a  crop  of  wonderful  hair  for  so  old 

a  man. 

*  * 
* 

Now  Ben  A'an  bobs  up  serenely  as  we  change 

our  direction  on  the  road,  while  on  either  side  in 

green   pastures,  by   cooling   streams,   wander   the 

long-haired  cafe-o-lait  Highland  cattle,  with  frisky 

sheep. 

*  * 
* 

Only  too  soon  lovely  Loch  Katrine  comes  into 
view.  The  drive  in  a  few  moments  will  be  but  a 
memory,  and  yet  one  of  the  pleasantest  to  recall. 
I  would  advise  walking  this  five  and  one-half 
miles,  if  one  can  take  the  time,  as  a  coach  does  it 
all  too  soon. 

* 

Stronlacher,  unfortunately,  has  a  new  hotel,  in- 
stead of  the  quaint  and  retired  one  of  two  years 
ago.  The  proprietor  and  employees  feel  their 
oats  excessively.  Beware  of  it,  all  ye  who  travel 
here,  and  prepare  yourself  with  luncheon  else- 
where.    Sandwiches,  costing  eighteen  cents,  with 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  137 

more  mustard  than  meat,  deplete  your  pocket-book 
while  they  do  not  nourish  the  inner  man.  In  fact, 
you  are  quite  sniffed  at  by  the  snippy  maid  at  the 
bar,  probably  because  you  do  not  choose  to  par- 
take of  the  two-and-six  dinner  then  on.  The  sand- 
wiches, for  a  party  of  four,  are  brought  one  by 
one.  You  object  to  their  being  wrapped  in  news- 
paper, and  finally  get  white  paper.  By  this  time  a 
number  of  people  are  also  clamoring  for  sand- 
wiches. One  Englishman  orders  "  Nine  sand- 
wiches, I  say, — give  them  me  quick  !  "  You  won- 
der, does  he  dream  of  the  price  !  As  the  last  one 
of  your  order  comes  strolling  in,  with  a  sigh  you 
say  to  the  elegant  gentleman  clerk  :  "  Would  you 
allow  me  to  pay  you  for  four  sandwiches?"  feeling 
sure  he  will  say,  "  No,  madam  ;  no  filthy  lucre  ever 
touches  my  elegant  hands  or  that  of  my  lady 
assistants?"  But,  to  your  surprise,  he  grabs  the 
vulgar  silver  you  have  tendered  in  payment  and 
almost  forgets  to  return  the  change,  while  the 
waiting  crowds  of  your  countrymen  about  the 
window,  smile  at  his  airs  and  your  complacency  in 
the  face  of  them. 


Out  under  the  trees  on  one  of  Loch  Katrine's 
peninsulas  you  beguile  Sandy  Clelland,  after  he 
has  baited  his  horses.     As  he  seats  himself  against 


138  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

a  tree,  our  artist  commences  a  water-color,  which 
proves  a  perfect  picture.  For  fifteen  minutes  he 
does  not  budge  an  inch,  so  proud  is  he  at  "bein' 
done,"  and  when  we  notice  his  hands  are  covered 
with  flies,  we  say:  "You  may  move  now."  At 
this  he  deliberately  gives  his  strong  thumbs  a 
rotary  motion.  'Tis  finished  just  as  the  boat  that 
is  to  take  us  through  the  lake  comes  in  sight,  and 
as  he  sees  himself  as  others  see  him,  in  gray  tile, 
bright  scarlet  coat,  and  plaid  vest,  with  his  genial, 
ruddy  visage  set  in  a  frame  of  snow-white  hair 
and  beard,  he  exclaims,  with  enthusiasm,  "  By 
George,  that's  me,  sure  as  life.  I'll  tell  it  to  many 
a  person  on  my  coach  after  this,  how  I  was  done." 
In  another  moment  he  has  his  coach  at  the  door 
to  welcome  passengers  to  Loch  Lomond,  and  we 
see  him  drive  off  very  soon,  looking  proud  and 
happy,  while  we  are  equally  so  at  having  the 
sketch. 

* 
Loch  Katrine  is  so  quickly  navigated  that  all 
should  be  well  up  in  her  scenery  to  know  at  least 
when  Ellen's  Isle  is  passed.  No  one  gives  any 
information  on  the  boat,  or  tells  you  the  mountain 
peaks,  but  if  you  know  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake"  by 
heart,  Ben  Ledi,  Ben  A'an  and  Ben  Venue  are  all 
old  friends,  and  just  a  distant  glimpse  can  be  had 
of   the  very   tip    of    Ben    Lomond.      Ellen's   Isle 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  139 

is  purple  with  heather,  and  while  you  enjoy  in- 
tensely the  second  sight  of  it,  you  sigh  for  just  a 
little  more  time  to  visit  the  braes  of  Balquidder  so 
near  and  yet  so  far  at  the  present  moment. 

*  * 
* 

Two  routes  are  now  open  to  you,  the  most 
mountainous  and  newest,  via  the  Trosach  Glen 
and  Aberfoyle  to  Stirling,  and  the  more  historic, 
due  to  Scott's  immortalizing  pen,  by  the  Trosach's 
Glen  past  Loch  Vennachar  with  Coilantogle  Ford. 
Callander,  and  Stirling  at  the  finis. 

Behind  us  on  the  coach  an  English  clergyman 
and  his  wife  had  the  following  conversation  : 

He — "  Those  people  in  front  are  quoting  '  Lady 
of  the  Lake.' " 

She— "What  is  that,  dear?" 

He — without  any  apparent  surprise  —  "Oh,  a 
poem,  my  dear,  written  by  Scott  years  ago." 

She — "  Indeed  !     Have  you  read  it,  dear  ? " 

He — "  Yes."    But  he  doesn't  suggest  she  should. 

*  * 
* 

How  the  rain  did  come  down  once  we  were  on 
the  coach  !  and  how  I  did  wish  for  Yankee  inven- 
tiveness enough  to  make  an  umbrella  with  a 
collapsible  gutter  to  carry  off  the  streams  that 
perforce  wet  one's  shoulders,  and  almost  do  more 
damage  than  the  rain. 


140  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"Will  it  rain  this  way  long,  driver?"  I  ask. 

"Thet  I  couldna  tell,  Miss  ;  seems  like  we  may 
have  a  wee  bit  shooer  a  bit  further  over  the  brae." 

"Why,  what  do  you  call  this,  a  sprinkle?"  I 
reply. 

"Ah  !  it's  not  much,  this,  me  leddy,  for  it's  the 
finest  day  since  May  in  this  part." 

As  we  reached  the  "  brae,"  a  very  high  hill  to 
me,  the  sun  suddenly  shot  out  from  behind  a 
cloud,  and  in  a  jiffy  all  umbrellas  were  down  and 
we  were  all  exclaiming  over  the  extent  of  the  view 
and  the  beauty  of  Aberfoyle,  a  speck  as  yet  far 
below  in  the  valley. 

When  it  was  reached,  we  were  driven  to  the 
hotel,  but,  refusing  to  alight,  were  driven  to  the 
station,  some  distance  off,  where  we  dismounted 
with  our  bags  and  wet  rain-coats. 

N.  B. — The  object  of  halting  at  the  hotel  is  best 
known  to  the  coachman  and  proprietor.  If  one 
wishes  to  return  to  the  hotel,  there  is  plenty  of 
time  after  tickets  are  bought,  or,  if  holding  cou- 
pons for  round  trip,  "  luggage  is  booked." 


Aberfoyle  is  more  famous  to  me  for  the  reason 
that  Sandy  Clelland  was  born  and  reared  here 
than  for  any  other  that  I  can  give.  From  it  Ben 
Lomond's  other  side  is  seen  gloriously,  and  Sandy 


THE    SCOTTISH  LAKES.  141 

says  it,  and  knows  whereof  he  speaks,  that  "  'tis  te 
pest  place  to  see  Lomond  from  than  any  uther  in. 

te  warrld." 

*  * 

Here  we  take  the  train  for  Stirling  and  bid  fare- 
well to  friends  and  chance  acquaintances,  whose 
route  takes  them  to  Edinboro'. 

*  * 
* 

After  the  Rigi,  I  love  best  to  see  the  sunset 
from  the  top  of  the  Back  Walk  at  Stirling.  Every 
peak  to  which  you  have  been  so  near  on  both 
Lomond  and  Katrine  stands  boldly  out,  notwith- 
standing the  distance,  and  despite  you  seldom 
quote,  the  first  two  lines  from  "  Jessie,  the  Flower 
of  Dunblane,"  are  upon  your  lips  : 

"  The  sun  had  gone  down  on  lofty  Ben  Lomond, 
And  left  its  red  glow  to  preside  o'er  the  scene." 

*  * 

* 

A  motley  group  of  town  children  attract  your 
attention  as  they  sing  Scotch  songs  while  playing 
about  on  the  edge  of  the  huge  rocks,  upon  which 
Stirling  Castle  is  built.  The  spryest  of  them  all  is 
Mary  Newells.  She  seems  the  Mother  Superior 
of  the  group,  her  staff  of  office  a  crutch  much  too 
short  for  her,  with  the  aid  of  which  her  one  plump 
leg  manages  to  get  over  any  amount  of  ground. 
Poor  child,  she  was  so  merry  withal,  that  I  asked 


142  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN   '90. 

her  name  and  address  in  order  to  get  her  a  new 
crutch.  This  interested  the  entire  clique,  and 
rather  silenced  them,  as  we  went  on  towards  the 
cemetery.  At  last  one  gained  courage  to  call  out, 
"  Say,  leddy,  what's  ye  goin'  to  do  wi'  Mary's 
number?"  "No  harm,  Jeanie,"  I  answered  at 
random,  "she  need  not  worry."  This  assurance 
seemed  to  lighten  their  hearts,  and  I  heard  Mary 
say  :  "  She's  got  your  name  too,  Jeanie  Mac- 
Donald,  sure  as  fate.  Do  be  quiet,  and  mend 
yer  manners,  and  stop  yer  giggling,  so  she'll 
(with  emphasis)  think  ye  know  beans." 


In  the  cemetery  we  came  upon  the  very  small 
grave  of  Dryburgh  Binnie,  son  of  John  and  Mary 
Smith,  and  were  told  he  was 

"  With  Christ,  which  is  far  better." 

His  name  no  doubt  was  the  death  of  him. 


Via  Callander  and  Killin  is  the  quickest  way  to 
get  to  Loch  Tay,  only  I  should  suggest  remaining 
over  night  at  Loch  Earnhead  on  Loch  Earn,  which 
has  the  prettiest  setting  of  all  Scotland's  lake 
gems,  and  going  on  to  Killin  to  spend  the  day 
there,  and  the  next  night  at  Kenmore.      The  route 


THE   SCOTTISH  LAKES.  143 

by  rail  to  Killin  Junction  is  part  of  the  way  to 
Oban,  and  one  must  be  a  clever  observer  in  order 
not  to  lose  some  of  the  glorious  scenery  en  route. 


In  our  carriage  are  two  swells,  too  bored, 
"  dontcher  know,"  to  even  look  out.  On  the  tip 
top  of  the  highest  range  of  mountains  I  see  a 
horse  in  silhouette.  "  Isn't  he  a  dear!  "  I  exclaim, 
suddenly,  at  which  they  actually  spring  to  their 
feet,  saying  in  unison,  "  Where  did  you  see  it?  We 
are  expecting  them  up  here  to  shoot  at!"  "A 
dear  horse,"  I  explain.  "  Oh,"  they  groan,  "  we're 
on  the  look-out  for  game.*'     And  so  was  I. 


Killin  Junction  commands  the  finest  view  of 
Ben  More,  my  favorite  Scotch  mountain,  and  one, 
unfortunately,  not  very  well  known.  Its  summit, 
white  with  snow,  glistened  beneath  the  sunshine, 
and  looked  a  veritable  Pike's  Peak  in  dignity. 

Killin  proper  is  the  worst  place  the  Fates  could 
send  one  to  for  the  night,  if  the  hotel  is  used. 
But  lodgings  are  reasonable.  The  town,  however, 
is  very  historic  and  most  interesting,  as  being  the 
burial-place  of  Clan  McNab,  whose  long  line  is 
now  extinct  in  this  country,  the  last  of  that  name 
having  gone  to  Canada. 


144  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN   '90. 

Loch  Tay  teems  with  memories  to  any  one 
familiar  with  "The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  and 
over  all    Ben   Lawers  presides  alone   and    in    his 

glory. 

*  * 
* 

Kenmore    is    an    ideal    village.     The    Earl    of 

Breadalbane,  a  childless  man,  is  kind  to  his  people 

and    has   made   it   evident.     Here   all  the  people 

speak  Gaelic  among  themselves,  and  even  to  their 

horses.     "You    are   speaking   in    English    to  that 

horse,  coachman,"  I  said,  as   we  drove  after  four 

fine  brutes  to  Aberfeldy,  through    the  Valley  of 

the  Tay.      "  'Deed,  I  did,  me  leddy,  he  is  a  new 

horse,  and  don't  know  Gaelic  yet." 

*  * 
* 

From  Aberfeldy  there  are  two  routes  up  to  the 
Grampians.  The  first  by  train  to  Blair  Athol, 
which  takes  one  through  the  pass  of  Killecrankie, 
the  scenery  of  which  is  highly  enjoyable.  Then 
on  horseback,  through  wildly  beautiful  scenery,  to 
Braemar  is  a  rare  treat. 

The  second  necessitates  going  by  train  to  Dun- 
keld,  which  route,  for  various  reasons,  we  took. 
On  the  way,  we  have  our  first  sight  of  Scotch 
birks,  or  birches,  and  in  Dunkeld  find  the  only 
remnants  of  "  Birnam  woods  which  came  to 
Dunsinane."* 

*In  Macbeth. 


THE    SCOTTISH  LAKES.  145 

The  "  Athol  Arms "  in  the  town,  is  very  com- 
fortable and  more  reasonable  than  the  Royal. 
From  the  latter,  one  must,  however,  engage  places 
ahead  on  the  Braemar  coach,  which  leaves  every 
morning,  going  via  Blair  Gowrie. 


The  shops  are  gay  with  plaids  and  scarfs  of 
every  clan,  and  after  a  walk  across  the  eagerly 
rushing  Tay,  which  divides  the  town,  we  begin 
to  realize  we  are  on  the  threshold  of  the  Grampian 
Hills. 


LETTER    IX. 

In   the   Grampians. 

The  Scotch  Tour  Ended  at  "  Gray  and  Granite"  Aberdeen — 
On  a  Coach-box  in  the  Hills — Braemar  and  Balmoral — 
The  Brig  o'  Don — English   Totirists  in  Kilts. 

Aberdeen,  Scotland,  August  25,  1890. 

When  one  is  booked  for  an  entire  day's  journey 
on  the  morrow  by  coach,  is  there  anything  more 
pathetic  than  to  have  a  steady  down-pour  of  rain 
set  in  just  at  bed-time?  It  certainly  requires  a 
deal  of  faith  in  Providence  to  calmly  prepare  for 
rest,  without  taking  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  but 
this  is  by  far  the  wisest  plan,  as  one  discovers 
when  in  an  amazingly  short  time  sunbeams  knock 
on  one's  eye-lids,  to  announce  daybreak  and  fair 
weather.  Merry  dancing  sprites  that  they  are, 
would  it  were  possible  to  tell  them  of  the  joy  their 
advent  has  given  ! 

Yes,  the  storm  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and,  as  if 
cleansed  by  it,  a  perfect  day  has  arisen,  bright  and 
clear. 


IN    THE    GRAMPIANS.  147 

"  This  weather  is  especially  ordered  for  you, 
Miss,"  says  the  manager  of  the  Royal  Hotel  in 
Dunkeld. 

"  For  which  I  am  truly  grateful,"  I  reply,  as  he 
assists  me  to  mount  to  my  seat  next  the  driver, 
a  perch  which  two  extra  shillings  have  secured 
for  me. 

"  How  about  the  coachman — does  he  know  all 
the  points  of  interest  between  here  and  Braemar?" 
I  call  down  to  the  manager  as  he  steps  back  upon 
the  sidewalk,  full  of  pride  at  seeing  his  coach 
well  filled. 

"  'E  ought,  as  'e  'as  gone  this  road  this  forty- 
seven  year  'as  the  driver,"  is  his  reply. 

Just  here  our  red-coated  Jehu  comes  out,  and, 
after  a  look  all  around  the  coach  and  a  few 
directions  about  the  luggage,  he  takes  his  place, 
snaps  his  whip,  and  we  are  off. 

A  glance  of  the  eye  reveals  the  fact  that  he  is 
liable  to  be  crusty,  and  the  first  question  asked 
shows  me  he  is  deaf.  Alas !  it  is  difficult  to 
repress  a  sigh,  and  to  smother  a  wish  that  is 
uppermost  in  the  mind,  for  jolly  Sandy  Clelland 
of  the  Scotch  Lakes. 

Between  Dunkeld  and  Blair  Gowrie  we  pass 
half  a  dozen  lakes,  varying  in  size  and  beauty, 
about  which  our  driver's  forty-seven  seasons  have 
not  brought  him  any  information,  or  us  either. 


148  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

The  village  of  Blair  Gowrie,  where  we  halt 
before  the  principal  inn,  is  evidently  a  favorite 
summer  resort,  easily  reached  by  rail  from  Perth 
as  well  as  by  coach  from  Dunkeld.  The  driver 
calls  out,  "  Fifteen  minutes  to  wait  here  !  "  So  we 
dismount  and  go  up  a  hilly  street,  from  which  the 
town  can  be  seen  to  advantage.  On  returning,  we 
buy  such  luscious  red  cherries,  one  of  Perth- 
shire's prides,  and  before  remounting  put  on  all 
our  wraps,  as  the  air  is  clear  and  really  cold,  and 
without  the  sunshine  would  be  most  trying.  Then, 
too,  we  shall  have  three  hours  steady  coaching 
before  luncheon  time,  at  the  "  Spital,"  or  three- 
quarters-of-the-way  house,  on  the  edge  of  the 
Grampians. 

The  varied  costumes  of  the  summer  visitors  are 
interesting.  Women  in  short  skirts,  blouse-waists, 
and  the  everlasting  sailor  hat  (too  small  for  the 
head,  worn  tipped  over  the  nose),  go  hither  and 
thither,  with  canes  for  climbing.  Accompanying 
them  are  men  who  display  any  discrepancies  they 
may  possess  in  their  underpinning  by  wearing 
kilts.  One  can  tell  they  are  not  to  the  manner 
born,  for  their  knees  really  look  blue  from  ex- 
posure, and  no  doubt  they  feel  as  uncomfortable 
as  they  look. 

I  said  we  had  fifteen  minutes  to  wait !  And  so 
we  had,  with  three  times  fifteen  minutes  added  to  it. 


IN    THE    GRAMPIANS.  149 

Yes ;  nearly  one  whole  hour  were  we  ready  to 
start.  At  last  it  was  found  out  that  the  delay  was 
caused  by  some  passengers  who  were  left  at  Perth, 
and,  this  being  the  only  through  coach,  had  tele- 
graphed it  to  wait. 

After  the  hour  had  passed,  the  passengers 
informed  the  driver  it  was  preposterous  to  wait 
any  longer,  so  he  mounted  and  drove  slowly 
toward  the  station.  Of  course  he  was  very  irate 
at  the  delay,  and  had  employed  his  time  during 
the  wait  by  growling  and  stamping  about  in  a  very 
mad  manner. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road,  we  were  rewarded  by 
three  passengers,  one  very  fat  woman  'and  two 
men,  who  mounted  and  had  luggage  put  on,  and 
altogether  took  up  another  half  hour. 

As  they  settled  themselves,  the  fat  woman  asked 
calmly,  how  it  happened  the  coach  waited. 

"  Had  she  not  telegraphed  ? "  was  the  general 
exclamation. 

"  No,  by  no  means,"  she  replied. 

Then  one  of  the  men  said  he  had  already 
engaged  a  trap  to  take  him  his  journey  before 
seeing  the  coach,  so,  as  the  second  man  remained 
silent  and  looked  most  unconcerned,  we  all 
concluded  he  was  the  man  to  whom  we  were 
indebted  for  such  a  delay.  Thinking  I  might  like 
to  get  the  coach  sometime  from  Perth,  I  asked  the 


150  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

driver  if  he  waited  for  people  in  this  way  as  a 
usual  thing. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "'Hit  depends  upon  cir- 
cumstances, and  never  'as  Hi  know  'appened  be- 
fore," which  reply  made  the  occurrence  seem  all 
the  more  mysterious. 

The  beauty  of  the  scenery  now  occupies  us 
fully.  It  is  both  grand  and  romantic  ;  in  fact,  the 
most  varied  we  have  seen,  its  climax  being  the 
curious  old  mansion,  perched  like  an  eagle's  nest 
upon  a  huge  rock  overlooking  a  ravine  lined  with 
birks  and  many  other  trees,  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
took  for  his  model  of  Tully  Veolan  in  "  Waverley." 
Seeing  our  enthusiasm,  Sims  (the  coachman) — he 
has  informed  us  that  he  does  not  belong  to  any 
clan — really  rises  to  the  occasion  and  points  out 
the  cave  where  Mr.  Bradwardine  was  in  hiding. 

"  Then  you  have  read  '  Waverley  ? '  "  I  ask. 

"  No,  not  ezacly,  Miss  ;  you  see  I  beant  only 
one-'alf  Scotch,  but  I  'av  'eard  many  a  people  as 
rides  along  wi'  me  tell  about  it,  and  so  I  'as  got 
'noculated,  so  to  speak." 

"  Have  you  had  many  people  this  season  ? "  I 
continued,  seeing  he  seems  willing  to  talk. 

"  Poorest  season  we  ever  'ad,"  he  promptly  an- 
swers. "  Why,  perhaps,  you  would  not  believe  me, 
but  this  'ere's  the  first  really  loaded  coach  and  fine 
day  I've  'ad  since  the  season  came  on  in  June." 


IN    THE    GRAMPIANS.  151 

"  Do  you  have  to  take  this  long  drive  just  the 
same,  whether  you  have  none,  or  only  one  or 
two  ? "  I  ask. 

"  Yes,  just  the  same  ;  hit's  been  a  fine  sayson  for 
brides  and  grooms,  I  can  tell  ye.  I've  gone  back- 
'ards  and  for'ards  with  several  on  'em,  'aving  the 
'ole  coach  to  theirselves,  and  I  a  keepin'  me  heyes 
turned  strictly  'on  me  'osses,"  was  his  answer, 
ungarnished  with  even  a  twinkle  from  his  eye. 

The  scenery,  which  has  grown  bleak  and  stem, 
coincides  exactly  with  our  feelings  by  this  time,  for 
want  of  food  in  such  a  bracing  air  dampens  the 
spirits  of  even  the  most  ardent  sightseer ;  but 
before  many  minutes  the  "  Spital  "  is  reached  and 
we  are  at  luncheon. 

Once  refreshed  and  warmed,  after  a  drive  of 
thirty  miles,  we  begin  to  see  some  beauty  in  our 
surroundings,  and  a  great  desire  possesses  us  to 
remain  here  one  night  at  least.  A  through  ticket 
prevents  us,  but  we  certainly  will  do  it  next  time. 
Yes,  it  is,  next  to  a  night  on  the  Rigi,  the  most  des- 
olate situation  imaginable,  and  the  most  restful 
too — far,  far  away,  as  it  is,  from  trains,  telegrams, 
trunks  (we  had  forwarded  all  luggage)  and  tumult, 
surrounded  by  heather-covered  hills  and  canopied 
by  the  bluest  sky  imaginable. 

As  we  are  packed  on  the  coach  again  it  is  after 
three    o'clock,    and    Braemar   cannot    be    reached 


152  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

before  seven.  However  we  will  soon  be  in  the 
Grampian  Mountains,  whose  peaks  are  in  sight, 
and  with  this  promised  land  held  out  as  a  reward, 
we  are  patient,  and  fully  enjoy  the  beauty  each 
new  turn  in  the  road  discloses. 

Within  one  hour  of  Braemar  it  becomes  sud- 
denly very  cold,  as  we  ascend  five  hundred  feet  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  around  the  Devil's  Elbow, 
a  most  abrupt  and  precipitous  turn  in  the  road. 
All  the  men  dismount  and  walk  to  the  top.  Now 
quite  as  suddenly  comes  the  descent,  in  less  than 
half  the  time,  which  takes  us  out  of  the  mountains 
into  a  broad  and  green  valley.  Off  come  the 
wraps  and  all  is  changed.  The  scenery  is  gentle 
and  undulating,  a  new  moon  looks  out  of  a  sunlit 
sky,  and  the  Grampian  Mountains,  of  which  we 
have  heard  ever  since  we  could  repeat,  "  My  name 
is  Norval,"  are  directly  before  us,  three  of  their 
peaks  snow-covered.  Once  seen  they  can  never 
be  forgotten. 

The  one  covered  with  cairns  is  unique  and 
becomes  the  favorite.  In  fact,  this  is  the 
land  of  cairns  and  cairn-gorms.  The  former 
"bob  up  serenely"  from  every  elevation  in  com- 
memoration of  some  event  in  the  life  of  each  mem- 
ber of  the  royal  family.  Just  at  present,  however, 
we  would  much  rather  see  one  red  deer  than  many 
cairns,  and  confess  as  much  to  the  coachman. 


IN    THE   GRAMPIANS.  153 

"  I'll  show  ye  one  if  I  see  hit  in  time,"  he 
promises. 

"Why  don't  we  see  any  of  the  rams  with  double 
and  twisted  horns,  as  well?"    I  ask. 

"They  are  kept  shut  up,"  he  answers. 

In  a  few  moments  I  felt  a  poke  in  the  ribs,  and 
he,  pointing  towards  a  corner  of  a  field,  says, 
"  There  are  some  of  your  friends,"  and,  behold,  a 
ram,  a  dam  and  a  lamb,  gracefully  posed,  just  as 
Yerboeckhoven  loved  to  depict  them. 

"  A  deer,  a  deer !  "  the  cry  rings  out. 

"Where,  coachman?"  I  ask. 

"  Oh,  Miss,"  they  be  foolin'  ye  ;  'tis  only  a 
wooden  deer  up  there  a  bit  awa'  on  the  mountain 
to  shoot  at  for  practice." 

"  Never  mind,  I  am  bound  to  see  a  deer,  wooden 
or  not,  and  you  should  have  showed  it  to  me," 
I  say. 

"  Ah,  nay,  I  could  not  tell  a  lee,  for  a'  that.  No 
more  would  I,"  is  his  Puritanic  reply. 

Just  at  this  point,  the  man  who  had  evidently 
held  the  coach,  turned,  and  addressing  the  driver 
as  "  Feyther,"  spoke  rapidly  to  him  in  Gaelic.  As 
quick  as  a  flash,  the  delay  was  explained. 

"  Is  that  your  son  ? "  I  ask. 

As  he  squirmed  and  got  very  red  in  the  face, 
Sims  had  to  tell  the  truth  and  say  : 


154  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  Yes,  'es  comin'  'ome  for  a  'oliday.  But  'ow 
did  ye  know  'im  ? " 

"I've  had  my  doubts  all  along  about  you  not 
wanting  to  wait  this  morning,"  I  answered,  "and 
yet  you  could  not  call  a  wooden  deer  a  real  deer, 
just  for  fun." 

"  That's  different,  me  leddy,"  was  all  he  could 
answer. 

And  I  thought  so,  too,  as  I  discontinued  the  con- 
versation, disgusted  with  a  man  who  would  act 
but  could  not  tell  a  lie,  and  who  was  so  peculiarly 
constituted  that  he  still  thought  he  had  done  no 
wrong.  Moral :  if  you  ever  take  this  trip  while 
Sims  is  on  the  road,  don't  pay  three  shillings  extra 
for  a  seat  by  him,  as  the  added  fee  of  two  shillings 
for  his  morosity  is  compulsory,  no  matter  where 
you  sit. 

After  this  my  attention  was  divided  between  the 
approach  to  Braemar  and  an  amusing  species  of 
Englishman  who  has  ventured  to  ask  during  the 
day  : 

"  Do  you  know  the  language  of  flowers  ?  "  in  a 
very  die-a-way  voice,  and  "  Are  not  men  less  apt 
to  be  flirts  than  women  ?  " 

Referring  him  to  a  quotation  from  one  of  Mark 
Lemon's  clever  sayings,  I  am  rather  surprised  by 
his  answer  : 


IN    THE   GRAMPIANS.  155 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  Mark  Lemon — my  father 
was  his  cousin." 

The  descent  upon  Braemar  is  made  with  a  flour- 
ish, and  'tis  easy  to  realize  what  a  meeting-place 
this  was  for  the  clans  in  dim  and  distant  days. 
The  caterwauling  sound  of  a  bagpipe  strikes  the 
ear  as  the  Fife  Arms  is  reached. 

Finding  this  full,  lodgings  are  sought  for.  The 
post-office  sends  you  to  the  village  butcher,  who 
directs  you  to  Mrs.  Ewan,  "  hup  hon  Castleton 
terrace,  back  of  the  town."  Her  pretty  daughter 
shows  you  the  clean  bedrooms,  while  the  mother 
takes  the  order  for  dinner. 

Then  out  we  go  a-shopping,  first  to  the  butch- 
er's ;  then,  after  a  stroll  through  the  village,  to  the 
green  grocer's  and  baker's,  and  then  to  the  dry 
grocer's.  The  shepherd's  plaidies  in  this  shop  set 
us  so  agog  that  we  are  near  forgetting  to  buy  tea, 
coffee,  white  sugar,  cheese,  and  a  can  of  Keiler's 
marmalade  for  over  Sunday. 

This  grocery  is  a  homelike  institution,  since  we 
are  waited  upon  by  the  owner,  his  wife,  his  daugh- 
ter, and  his  son.  A  youth  entering  takes  away  the 
attention  of  the  daughter. 

"  Give  me  sixpence  worth  of  sweets,"  he  says. 

She  does  up  some  striped  —  what  children  in 
America  call  "bull's  eyes" — for  him. 

Hesitating  a  moment,  he  adds,  "  Please  give  me 


156  AS    IV E    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

a  tuppence  ha'penny's  worth  of  stomach-ache 
medicine." 

Mechanically  she  puts  up  a  small  box  of  pills, 
and  I  then  notice  that  the  window  contains  bottles 
of  drugs. 

Ahead  of  us  has  gone  the  meat,  with  a  bill 
dedicated  to  "  Mrs.  Ewan's  lodgers,"  and  upon 
returning  to  the  terrace  a  most  homelike  dinner  is 
ready  for  our  consideration. 

The  terrace  in  front  of  the  house  commands  a 
fine  view,  and  from  it  we  can  see  the  very  spot 
where  Prince  Charlie  was  proclaimed  King  of  the 
Scots,  and  where  the  royal  standard  was  planted 
by  his  firm  but  mistaken  adherent,  the  brave  Earl 
of  Mar. 

How  different  it  is  now  !  The  man  who  has 
possession  of  the  very  property  of  this  once  mighty 
earl  is  no  less  a  person  than  the  quondam  earl, 
now  Duke  of  Fife,  the  Queen's  grandson-in-law. 

Sunday  morning  the  village  is  astir  by  the  time 
the  four  churches  begin  ringing  their  rival  bells. 
They  are  the  Established  Church,  the  Free 
Church,  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  and  it  is  a  study  to  watch  the 
great  variety  of  people  en  route  for  one  or  the 
other. 

Just  across  the  street,  beneath  a  picturesque 
bridge,  runs  a  busy  stream  that  turns  several  mills 


IN    THE    GRAMPIANS.  157 

in  its  course.  People  on  our  side  of  it  all  seem 
bound  for  the  churches  over  in  the  other  part 
of  the  town,  while  those  from  that  side  come 
toward  us. 

In  the  afternoon,  piloted  by  an  English  gentle- 
man we  met  on  the  coach,  we  go  for  a  walk  of 
five  miles,  over  the  "  Queen's  Drive."  He  has 
taken  the  same  walk  before  breakfast  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  does  not  mind  at  all  doing  it  again,  by 
way  of  showing  us  the  route.  The  path  for  the 
first  two  miles,  being  in  between  bushes  of  heather 
and  gorse,  gives  us  an  opportunity  to  practice  the 
"  heather  step,"  a  prancing  gait,  something  after 
that  of  a  horse.  Suddenly  we  are  aware  that  our 
blue  sky  has  clouded  over,  and  that  a  rain  is  fall- 
ing, which  means  three  miles  more  in  a  Scotch 
mist — quite  the  thing,  you  know  ! 

It  does  come  down  !  Steadily,  perseveringly, 
damply  !  We  try  to  hold  up  umbrellas,  but  this, 
with  petticoats  and  an  armful  of  heather  and  wild 
flowers,  which  grow  in  tantalizing  profusion  here, 
is  impossible,  so  we  give  them  up,  or  put  them 
down  rather,  and  return  wet — nay,  simply  drip- 
ping. Mrs.  Ewan  is  used  to  this,  and  soon  we  are 
tucked  up  in  bed,  our  chrysalides  of  clothes  hanging 
in  different  attitudes  in  front  of  her  queer  kitchen 
fire,  while  we,  on  the  strength  of  a  Scotch  whisky- 
sling,  go  off  to  dreamland. 


158  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Big  heads  and  sore  throats  next  morning,  do  I 
hear  you  say  ?  Not  at  all.  We  are  up  with  the 
lark,  and  off  for  Ballater,  via  Balmoral,  as  blithe  as 
can  be. 

This  drive  of  two  hours,  through  a  soft  undulat- 
ing scenery,  with  the  mountains  at  a  respectful 
distance,  as  if  standing  one  side  to  allow  of  our 
departure,  is  delightful.  An  intelligent  man  on 
the  box-seat,  as  well  as  a  very  jolly  coachman,  is 
also  an  advantage. 

Many  extensive  private  parks  are  passed,  one  of 
these  being  rented  for  the  shooting,  by  Sir  Alger- 
non Borthwick,  editor  of  the  London  Morning 
Post,  for  ^4,000  sterling.  This  price  gives  him 
the  right  to  kill  forty  stags  and  two  hundred 
hinds,  and  evidently  he  finds  journalism  lucrative. 

All  sorts  of  people  and  conveyances  are  encoun- 
tered. One  summer  visitor  is  so  greatly  bereaved 
that  she  has  a  band  of  crepe  on  her  mackintosh,  as 
well  as  on  a  white  sailor  hat. 

Black  polled  Angus,  or  hornless  cattle,  with 
long-horned  cafe  au  lait  bullocks,  form  uncon- 
scious pictures  in  the  meadows  at  either  side  of  the 
firm  macadamized  road,  which  is  perfected  by  its 
hedges  of  holly  and  hawthorn.  Along  the  roadside 
grow  wild  thyme,  pig's  pettitoes,  a  small  bright 
yellow  flower,  and,  of  course  dogroses,  white 
and  pink. 


IN    THE    GRAMPIANS.  159 

Despite  the  fact  that  we  are  fifteen  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea,  and  that  this  is  the  highest 
cultivated  land  in  Great  Britain,  every  inch  blos- 
soms, and  gives  promise  of  fine  returns.  The  only 
signs  of  decay  are  in  the  many  tumble-down 
thatched  cottages,  which  the  cotters  have  been 
forced  to  leave.  The  reason  is  quite  evident  when 
one  hears  of  the  tremendous  prices  paid  the  land- 
lords for  these  very  premises  for  shooting,  which, 
if  inhabited,  would  be  quite  useless  for  such 
purposes. 

Balmoral  is  rather  a  disappointment  on  account 
of  being  situated  in  a  valley,  with  the  Grampians 
at  a  distance  from  it,  rather  than  on  a  mountain. 
Near  by  is  Abergeldie,  the  shooting-box  or  High- 
land home  the  Queen  allows  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
The  driver  showed  us  a  bridge  lately  built  over 
the  stream  upon  which  it  is  situated,  saying,  "  Be- 
fore that  was  put  there  the  royal  mail  used  to  be 
shot  across  from  the  house  in  a  bag  on  a  wire. 
Now  he  has  a  pillar  to  put  his  mail  in." 

1  What  is  that  lying  over  in  the  meadows  that 
looks  so  red  ?  "  I  ask. 

"Bless  my  soul,  if  that  isn't  the  ryal  (royal) 
pillar  now,  gone  on  a  'oliday  and  got  'toxicated  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  chuckling  with  laughter.  "  We 
ought  to  let  'is  'ighness  know  'ow  'is  'ighland 
pillar  is  be'avin'  of  itself  in  'is  habsence." 


160  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

At  Ballater  our  excursion  ends,  and  the  noise 
and  tumult  of  railroading  begins  ;  more's  the  pity  ! 
The  ride  to  Aberdeen  is  tiresome,  because  it  is 
omnibus,  but  we  are  enabled  by  slow  travel  to 
notice  the  country  and  the  people,  especially  the 
latter,  who  are  still  taking  their  holidays. 

The  military,  in  brilliant  red  coats,  are  numerous 
in  this  vicinity.  One  poor  fellow  had  his  arm  so 
out  of  place  that  it  is  noticeable  from  the  cars, 
although  he  is  walking  up  a  hill  at  a  distance 
from  the  station.  Has  the  lady  in  white  with  him 
a  red  sash  ?  No,  as  I  have  said,  his  arm  is  out 
of  place. 

The  fields  in  the  vicinity  of  Aberdeen  are  pre- 
sided over  by  lady  (not  gentleman)  scarecrows, 
whose  fluttering  gowns  are  quite  a  novelty,  and 
a  diminutive  golden-rod  tries  to  look  as  tall  as 
possible. 

I  refrain  from  any  remarks  about  gray  and 
granite  Aberdeen,  because  I  arrived  there  on  a 
tradesman's  holiday  ;  but  I  can  say  that  its  sur- 
roundings are  delightful,  for  I  took  a  tram  and 
went  out  to  the  Brig  o'  Balgownie  or  old  bridge 
of  Don,  one-half  mile  from  the  town,  and  to  its 
granite  cathedral  near  by,  which  plainly  shows  its 
antiquity. 

On  the  train  a  tradesman  in  his  best  bib  and 
tucker  offered  to  show  us  where  the  cathedral  was. 


IN    THE   GRAMPIANS.  161 

I,  thanking  him,  said  :  "  We  can  find  the  way,  no 
doubt." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  if  I  did  not  have  my 
wife  and  children  along  I  should  be  very  pleased 
to  keep  you  company." 

As  we  descended  from  the  train  he  got  down 
ahead  of  us  and,  in  some  miraculous  way,  had 
marshaled  his  entire  brood  out  before  we  reached 
terra  firma.  As  I  turned  hastily  aside  with  my 
friends,  who  were  choking  with  laughter  at  his 
desire  to  be  polite,  he  called  out  :  "  This  is  Mrs. 
Smith  and  the  children,  ladies ;  we'll  show  you  the 
way  to  the  cathedral." 

We  thanked  him,  bowed  to  Mrs.  Smith,  and  by 
degrees  got  out  of  their  sight,  when,  to  our  con- 
fusion, he  came  puffing  up,  dragging  one  boy 
beside  him. 

"  Ladies,  please,"  he  ejaculated,  "  Mrs.  Smith 
says  she  can't  walk  as  fast  as  you  do,  but  keep  to 
the  left  and  we  will  meet  you  at  the  cathedral." 

By  good  luck,  rather  than  good  management,  we 
missed  them  by  a  hair's-breadth  at  the  cathedral, 
which  was  a  great  relief. 

Its  shipping  makes  Aberdeen  most  picturesque 
along  its  wharves,  and  brings  to  it  many  men  of 
many  minds  and  complexions.  One  could  spend 
several   days   most    pleasantly   here,    visiting   the 


162  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

universities  and  investigating  its  quaint  by-corners, 
and  another  time,  under  less  turbulent  circum- 
stances, I  hope  to  know  it  better.  As  it  is, 
Arbroath  and  St.  Andrews  seem  more  attractive, 
and  to  them  we  are  bound,  with  Edinboro' — glori- 
ous hill-girt  city  that  it  is — reserved  for  the  bonne 
bouche  of  a  most  perfect  Scotch  tour. 


LETTER     X. 
On    the    Continent. 

A  Very  Smooth  Voyage  Across  the  German  Ocean — Dusseldorf 
and  the  Rhine — Peculiarities  of  7'ourists — Mr.  Depew  in 
the  Frankfort  Station — Railway  Adventures. 

Nuremberg,  August  15,  1890. 
From  the  Grampians  to  Antwerp  is  considered 
a  long  journey  on  this  side  of  the  ocean,  but  to 
an  American  it  makes  up  in  interest  what  it  lacks 
in  distance,  especially  when  the  eastern  coast 
English  cathedrals  have  been  taken  en  route. 
Then,  too,  crossing  the  German  Ocean,  when  a 
vow  has  been  made  never  to  do  it  again,  proves 
quite  different  from  a  former  experience,  a  horrible 
recollection  many  smooth  passages  can  never 
efface.  That  time  it  was  made  by  night,  and  was 
indeed  a  nightmare.  Instead  of  letting  me  go  to 
sleep,  the  ship  tried  to  rest  itself.  First  she  would 
lie  down  on  her  right  side,  and  just  as  she  seemed 
most  comfortably  fixed,  would  flop  over  on  to  the 
other.  Then,  like  a  restless  child,  she  would  fling 
off  all  the  clothes  and  stand  on  her  two  feet,  after 


164  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

which,  in  trying  to  turn  a  somersault,  she  would 
reverse  herself.  Then  of  a  sudden,  gathering  all 
her  forces,  she  would  make  a  clean  leap  out  of  the 
water  altogether,  and  then  go  down  to  see  her 
mermaid  friends  among  the  deep  sea-weeds.  It 
was  certainly  awful ! 

This  time,  however,  the  crossing  was  made  by 
day,  from  Dover  to  Ostend,  on  one  of  the  fine  new 
steamers,  with  the  water  as  smooth  as  the  Niagara 
River  on  a  quiet  day  in  summer.  Four  hours  were 
consumed  in  going  from  land  to  land,  and  after 
a  superficial  examination  of  luggage,  the  train  was 
soon  whirling  us  on  toward  Antwerp. 

From  the  car  window  there  is  much  to  see,  for 
everything  is  changed  ;  people,  language,  atmos- 
phere and  scenery,  each  contributes  its  share.  Our 
flight  over  the  iron  rails  reveals,  of  course,  many 
pictures  never  to  be  forgotten  while  memory  lasts 
— here  a  windmill  full  of  motion  ;  there  lazy  Hol- 
steins  grazing  at  will ;  now  men  and  women  in 
picturesque  costumes,  toiling  side  by  side  on  the 
perfectly  tilled  farms,  beyond,  fields  of  rare  flowers, 
brilliant  with  blossoms. 

Bruges  and  Ghent  also  can  be  well  seen,  as  to 
belfry  and  steeples,  from  the  car  windows,  and 
this  glimpse  awakens  recollections  of  past  days 
which  were  spent  in  exploring  their  quaint  streets 
and  buildings. 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  165 

Antwerp  is  en  fete  upon  our  arrival,  as  it  was 
just  eight  years  ago  exactly.  The  streets  are  gay 
with  bunting,  and  the  Cathedral  has  a  statue  of 
the  Virgin  enthroned  and  dressed  in  gorgeous 
bejeweled  robes  out  in  the  nave,  surrounded  with 
masses  of  rare  flowers,  for  'tis  the  anniversary  of 
the  Assumption. 

Weeks  might  be  spent  in  Antwerp  and  the 
neighborhood  instead  of  days  ;  but  we  are  en  route 
for  Oberammergau  for  a  certain  date,  and  must 
be  expeditious,  on  account  of  having  taken  our 
time  in  Great  Britain. 

Dusseldprf  was  entirely  a  new  experience,  and 
a  most  comfortable  bed  was  obtained  in  the  Prinz 
Alexander  Hof — not  at  all  far  from  the  station. 

The  journey  thither  from  Antwerp  was  a  varied 
experience.  In  the  first  place,  all  the  trains  are  slow, 
and,  secondly,  I  discovered  that  this  route  took  us 
through  the  very  most  southeastern  part  of  Hol- 
land, which  necessitated  having  luggage  examined 
in  both  Holland  and  Prussia  within  one  hour,  as 
well  as  changing  carriages.  Fortunately,  our  con- 
ductor was  a  perfect  Godsend,  for  he  watched  over 
us  most  carefully,  when  we  had  to  wechselt  die 
Wagen,  and  finally  came  into  our  carriage,  and, 
finding  we  had  only  Flemish  money,  changed  it 
into  German  marks,  kreutzers,  etc. 

These  are   not  as  pleasant  to  use  as  francs  and 


166  AS    WE   SAW  if  IN  '90. 

centimes,  but  are  preferable  to  the  English  pounds, 
shillings  and  pence  ;  besides  one  can  buy  more 
with  them,  as  the  ten-kreutzer  piece  is  by  no 
means  the  smallest,  there  being  five,  two,  and  even 
one  kreutzer  coppers,  which  are  smaller  than  an 
American  one-cent  piece.  They  are  worth  more, 
however,  since  things  of  small  value  are  certainly 
cheaper  here  than  in  other  countries. 

The  third-class  railway  fares  are  also  much  less 
than  in  England,  and  as  a  lady  can  travel  third- 
class  in  Flanders,  Germany,  and  Austria,  the  long 
distances  are  not  such  a  drain  on  one's  pocket-book. 
The  only  way,  however,  to  do  this  in  comfort 
is  to  get  in  a  carriage  reserved  for  "  Frauen," 
where  no  man  dare  enter,  or  in  one  that  is  marked 
"  Nichts  rauchen,"  no  smoking.  These  carriages  are 
all  wooden  and  quite  uncushioned  ;  but  they  are 
clean,  and  a  small  pillow  or  air-cushion  makes 
them  very  comfortable.  In  fact,  they  are  sure  to  be 
clean,  while  the  upholstered  ones  are  sure  not  to 
be.  Then,  too,  one  is  not  subject  to  the  smoking 
fiend,  who  is  in  his  element  in  Germany.  One 
meets  him  in  first  and  second-class  carriages,  as 
well  as  third,  and  while  a  fine  cigar  is  not  bad  in 
its  place,  to  have  one  that  has  been  half  smoked 
relit,  and  that  a  very  cheap  one,  is  enough  to 
aggravate  a  saint.  Then,  they  do  not  smoke  it, 
and  stop,  but  hold  it  between  their  fingers,  where 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  167 

it  smoulders  continually,  throwing  out  a  disgusting 
smudge. 

This  smoking  goes  on  everywhere  in  Ger- 
many, and  I  am  glad  I  can  endure  it  without 
being  ill.  I  have  seen  a  man  over  his  morn- 
ing coffee  with  one  of  the  rankest  cigars  nearly, 
if  not  quite,  fifteen  inches  long,  in  his  mouth. 
I  have  seen  him  asleep  in  the  cars  with  one 
equally  long  held  in  his  teeth,  and,  of  course,  it 
is  allowable  for  him  to  light  it,  and  puff  the  smoke 
into  one's  face  at  the  dinner-table,  or  table  d'hote, 
while  one  is  in  the  act  of  eating  ice-cream,  with 
which  ismoke  does  not  exactly  amalgamate. 

However,  with  a  fortunately  happy  disposition 
and  a  great  thankfulness  that  one  does  not  have 
to  live  here  forever,  the  places  one  has  come  so  far 
to  see  are  thoroughly  enjoyed,  and  among  them 
Dusseldorf  is  by  no  means  the  least.  Its  system 
of  trams  is  good,  since  they  run  in  every  direction, 
and,  as  in  other  cities,  the  fare  is  much  lower  than 
in  America. 

Two  broad  avenues  shaded  by  immense  trees, 
among  which  are  fountains  and  statues  of  brave 
and  renowned  men,  must  be  threaded  in  going 
about  the  city,  and  these  both  terminate  in  a  fine 
park,  or  hofgarten,  from  which,  at  the  Belvedere, 
the  Rhine  is  overlooked. 

Near   here   is   the    immense   building   formerly 


168  AS    WE  SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

containing  many  famous  pictures  now  removed 
to  Munich.  Insistence  will  gain  one  admission  to 
see  all  that  remains,  viz.:  some  very  rare  wood-cuts 
and  engravings,  a  Rubens  "Assumption,"  and  the 
fine  Ramboux  collection  of  water-colors. 

The  modern  masters  are  well  represented  in  the 
new  Art  Gallery,  a  fine  and  imposing  building  in 
the  city,  opposite  the  theater. 

The  gem  of  this  collection  is  quite  small,  but 
of  great  value,  a  picture  that  attracts  attention  at 
once  and  enchains  everybody,  and  yet  it  is  of 
only  a  very  ragged  and  dirty  child,  sitting  on 
a  bare  floor.  The  wall-paper  above  the  rotten 
baseboard,  hangs  in  strips,  indicative  of  poverty, 
and  yet,  with  one  old  shoe  in  his  mouth,  his  own 
tiny  red-stockinged  feet  out  at  heels,  and  an 
old  hat  by  his  side,  he  is  monarch  of  aU  he 
surveys.  With  blue  eyes  brimful  of  happiness 
he  looks  one  full  in  the  face,  as  if  truly  alive  ; 
and  seeing  how  much  it  is  appreciated  the 
guardian  in  blue  coat,  red  vest,  and .  cocked  hat 
gives  the  information,  accompanied  with  plenty  of 
gesticulation,  that  "  das  ist  von  Knaus,  and  kostet 
five  tousand  tollars,"  which  endeavor  to  speak 
English  is  rewarded  by  a  smile  and  the  whole  of 
fifty  pfennigs.  This  evidently  pleased  him,  as  he 
not  only  touched  his  hat,  but  said  :     "  Dank — bit 


ON    THE   CONTINENT.  169 

— schone" — with  three  jerks,  and  went  off,  bring- 
ing in  a  few  moments  a  catalogue. 

Very  soon  music  in  the  street  attracts  us  out 
on  to  a  balcony,  by  which,  file  after  file  of  Hussars 
pass,  all  mounted,  even  the  band,  and  dressed  in 
green  uniform.  The  officers  wear  blue  coats, 
which,  with  green  trousers,  do  not  produce  a  har- 
monious effect,  but  they  look  as  smart  as  they  feel, 
no  doubt,  and  present  a  fine  appearance. 

By  the  time  Cologne  is  reached  all  luggage 
over  what  we  can  carry  ourselves  has  become  an 
intolerable  nuisance,  no  matter  how  small  the 
trunk,  and  we  are  wishing  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Red  Sea  ! 

For  two  journeys  my  tickets  were  the  same 
price,  and  my  very  small  trunk,  which  had  never 
been  opened,  varied  fifty  pounds  in  weight. 
Really  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  worth  ;  such 
fluctuation  quite  dazed  me,  and  remonstrance  was 
all  in  vain.  What  does  a  Cologne  man  care  for 
an  Antwerpian's  weight.  His  scales  are  right ! 
Thus  I  meekly  spill  out  my  marks  into  his  eager 
hand,  and  take  my  place  in  the  train. 

While  viewing  the  sacred  remains  of  St.  Ursula 
in  Cologne  and  her  eleven  thousand  virgin  friends 
in  the  church  of  the  same  name,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  possibly  she  might  have  had  luggage  too, 
when  she  journeyed  through  the  land,  and  I  asked 


170  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  very  solemn  verger,  who  seemed  to  know  her 
entire  history  from  A  to  Z,  if  he  supposed  she 
carried  such  an  incubus.  (Don't  ask  me  to  explain 
how  I  made  him  understand  what  I  meant,  I  beg 
of  you.)  Still  looking  most  solemn,  he  said  : 
"  I  am  about  dat  not  so  very  sure,  as  no  one  me 
has  before  ever  the  question  asked."  One  thing 
I  was  glad  of.  My  query  had  made  him  break 
forth  into  English,  which  gave  me  great  pleasure 
it  to  hear. 

Cologne  Cathedral  is  most  truly  grand  in  ils 
perfection,  and  as  to  the  reputed  odors  of  the 
city,  I  believe  the  competition  between  all  the 
only  genuine  Farinas  has  so  purified  the  air,  that 
further  remarks  upon  the  subject  are  quite  out  of 
order. 

Please  bear  with  me  while  I  pay  my  tribute  to 
the  Rhine,  which  gave  me  one  whole  day  of 
pleasure.  At  first  I  was  full  of  regret  that  short 
stops  were  not  to  be  made  between  Cologne  and 
Mayence ;  but  when  the  day  was  done  it  seemed 
the  very  way  to  have  seen  it  for  the  first  time, 
since  now  I  know  its  most  beauteous  spots,  and 
can  some  day  visit  it  piecemeal  more  intelligently. 

As  usual  with  us,  the  day  was  a  perfect  one, 
and,  of  course,  the  well-equipped  steamer  was  full 
to    overflowing.      This,    during    the    monotonous 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  171 

part,  between  the  Drachenfels  and  Coblenz,  gave 
us  a  chance  for  much  amusement. 

Brides  and  grooms  from  many  nations  were 
on  hand  and  had  no  end  of  trouble  changing 
their  seats,  so  as  to  be  both  secluded  and  in  the 
shade.  As  to  the  scenery,  they  might  as  well 
have  been  on  any  other  stream  for  all  they  knew 
or  cared  about  their  surroundings. 

The  German  families,  in  groups  of  five  and 
seven,  with  two  or  three  daughters  all  dressed  the 
same,  were  not  missing.  One  family  had  a  son 
Hans.  He  drew  all  the  mountain-peaks  in  a  book, 
and  of  course  was  an  aspiring  artist.  The  family 
liked  him  and  were  openly  proud  of  him,  even  if 
he  was  thin  and  sallow,  with  his  face  a  mass  of 
blotches.  He  wore  a  Vandykeish  hat  and  a 
mantleish  sort  of  cloak,  and  we  fancied '  perhaps 
he  was  the  last  of  the  Hanseatic  League,  from  his 
first  name. 

Then  the  "  Gazes "  and  "  Cookies "  were  well 
represented.  The  former  we  selected  easily,  be- 
cause they  all  went  to  sleep  and  did  not  gaze,  and 
the  latter  because  they  were  all  dough-faced. 
One  Gaze  found  a  soft  spot  on  the  canvas  thrown 
over  the  trunks  and  bags,  out  in  the  sunshine  on 
deck.  There,  undisturbed  and  serene,  he  slum- 
bered during  the  best  part  of  the  river,  so  that 
when  twilight  fell,  and  we  all  looked  weary,  he 


172 


AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 


was   the   most   refreshed-looking   man    on  board. 
Another  got  back  of  a  seat,  and  with  head  in  his 


Oi'R   WaCHT   (?)   am    Rhine. 

hands  and  both  toes  turned  in,  which  were  visible 
under  the  bench,  he  also  took  his  ease,  while  we 
were   going   from    end    to    end    of    the    steamer, 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  173 

wearing  ourselves  out,  just  because  we  were  afraid 
of  losing  a  castle  or  two.  He  had  also  remem- 
bered to  bring,  what  we  had  forgotten,  a  novel  to 
read.  So  that  when  he  awakened,  not  having  been 
told  by  the  conductor,  who  was  conspicuous  in 
blue  uniform,  with  "  Gaze  "  in  bright  letters  on  his 
hat,  to  "  gaze  on  this  picture  and  then  on  that," 
he  calmly  read  "The  Cost  of  a  Lie,"  and  really 
enjoyed  it,  imperturbed  by  the  inquisitive  sight- 
seers about  him. 

Such  is  life  on  a  Rhine  boat !  At  two  o'clock 
three-fourths  of  the  passengers  went  below  to 
spend  an  hour  at  table  d'h6te.  A  lady  told  me 
later  that  she  sat  next  to  the  Gaze  guide,  and  that, 
as  he  helped  himself  to  two-thirds  of  every  dish, 
she  fared  badly. 

At  five  o'clock  all  the  English  folk  on  board 
declared  their  nationality  by  having  "  afternoon 
tea."     How  they  did  enjoy  it  ! 

At  Coblenz  the  very  dearest  little  English  lady 
and  two  clever  companions  went  away  from  us. 
We  had  only  chatted  for  a  short  time  together, 
but  the  admiration  for  each  other  was  mutual,  and 
when,  just  as  she  was  leaving,  I  asked  her  name, 
she    quickly  gave    me    her   card,  saying  :     "  Miss 

,  Upper  Norwood,  London.     Do  come  and 

see  me  some  time.  You  can't  help  finding  me 
for    I    am    as   well    known    there   as   the    Crystal 


174  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Palace."  She  had  been  in  America,  knew  Niagara 
Falls  and  the  Berkshire  Hills,  and  admired  them 
"no  end,"  as  she  said. 

As  to  the  river,  which  charmed  and  fully 
satisfied  every  anticipation,  far  abler  pens  have 
long  since  described  it  in  words  which  are  now 
more  precious  than  gold.  But  this  first  sight  of  it 
was  entirely  mine  own  experience,  and  all  the  day 
Heine's  "  Holiday  on  the  Rhine,"  which  Schumann 
alone  could  have  set  to  music,  rang  in  my  ears. 
Next  to  the  sunshine  which  made  every  leaf  upon 
the  vine-clad  hills  rejoice,  we  liked  the  absence  of 
what  it  was  feared  would  be  present,  the  leetle, 
very  much  out  of  tune,  jangling  German  band. 

In  St.  Goar  and  straggling  Neiderheimbach  we 
left  bits  of  our  heart,  as  we  drifted  by,  while  we 
faithfully  promised  ourselves  a  sojourn  in  both 
places. 

As  the  boat  approached  Bingen,  the  statue  of 
Germania  looms  on  the  opposite  heights  and  we 
all  exclaimed,  "  There's  the  '  wacht '  the  story- 
tellers say  the  tourist  went  up  and  down  the 
Rhine  looking  for,  but  never  found." 

By  this  time  the  twilight  has  the  better  of  the 
day,  and  it  is  chilly,  so  we  hastily  decide  to  disem- 
bark and  go  to  Mayence  by  train ;  hence  the 
day  was  properly  finished  in  a  vine-covered  cafe  in 
Mayence,  over  a  glass  of  Ruedersheim,  less  sour 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  175 

and  more  sparkling  than  any  other  Rhine  wine. 
Especially  do  we  appreciate  it  now,  that  the  very 
banks  upon  which  it  grows  to  perfection  have 
been  seen. 

A  day  in  Frankfort  gave  ample  time  to  see  its 
art  treasures  and  its  famous  "  Ariadne,"  as  well  as 
to  drive  about  the  city  on  broad  and  shaded 
avenues,  and  over  its  bridges,  old  and  new.  From 
these  the  very  old  houses,  built  upon  the  river 
without  doors  or  windows,  to  prevent  smuggling, 
can  be  seen  to  advantage  ;  but  the  old  Jew  quarter 
is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  is  now  being  built  over 
in  a  modern  style. 

The  new  station,  only  two  years  old,  is  in  an 
unsettled  part  of  the  city  and  is  magnificent  in 
proportions.  Chauncey  M.  Depew  was  strolling 
about  in  it,  as  we  were  buying  our  tickets  for 
Heidelberg,  and  I  am  quite  sure  he  felt  the  New 
York  Central  station  could  not  compare  with  it, 
and  trust  it  suggested  some  new  ideas  to  him. 

He  did  not  tell  us,  but  we  saw  the  next  day  in  a 
paper,  that  he  had  just  been  dining  with  the  Prince 
of  Wales  in  Homburg.  The  invitation  sent  our 
quartette  by  "  Whales  "  did  not  reach  us  in  time 
otherwise  we  should  have  arranged  to  spend  a 
week  in  Homburg.  As  it  was,  we  went  to  see  an 
equally  big  swell,  the  Heidelberg  tun,  and  were 
quite  impressed  with  its  royal  highness. 


176  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '9G. 

Two  warnings  I  would  give  to  a  stranger  in  this 
rarest  of  German  towns.  Don't  be  beguiled  into 
staying  in  any  other  than  the  Schloss  Hotel,  and 
don't  believe  that  the  new  inclined  railway  will 
take  you  to  its  door.  From  the  station  a  carriage 
or  the  hotel  omnibus  should  be  taken,  as  the  rail- 
way is  only  good  for  the  Molken  Cur  or  Milk 
Cure,  from  which  height  one  looks  down  upon  the 
castle. 

A  dense  canopy  of  clouds  discharged  itself  upon 
the  town  just  at  six  o'clock.  From  back  of  this 
the  sun  set,  red  and  huge,  and  by  degrees  it  was 
rolled  back  until  only  the  blue  sky  was  seen,  but 
not  until  a  rainbow  gave  promise  for  the  morrow. 
Then  in  the  sunset  glow  we  wandered  about  in  the 
castle,  the  grandest  and  most  impressive  ruin  I 
have  ever  seen,  until  the  moon,  still  in  its  first 
quarter,  arose  to  preside  over  the  scene. 

From  my  bedroom  window,  many  feet  above  the 
castle,  the  brilliantly  lit  town  and  restless  Necker 
lay  before  me,  at  the  base  of  the  castle.  Not 
until  the  moon  had  gone  from  my  sight,  behind 
the  mountains  which  tower  in  every  direction,  was 
it  possible  to  say  good-night  to  a  scene  so  rare, 
for  a  sojourn  in  dreamland.  This  was  reached 
through  the  quieting  medium  of  the  wind  moan- 
ing out  its  version  of  the  tales  anent  old  castle 
days   poured    into    our  willing    ears  that  evening 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  177 

by  our  guide,  Frau  Ziegler,  in  her  pretty  broken 
English. 

Many  drives  may  be  taken  about  these  wonder- 
ful mountains.  One  at  least  should  be  indulged 
in  before  the  full  beauty  of  Heidelberg's  situation 
can  be  realized.  The  descent  to  the  town  through 
many  zigzags  in  the  road  is  enchanting,  and  when 
the  handsome,  blonde  porter  of  the  hotel  greets  us 
at  the  station  with  a  budget  of  home  letters,  our 
happiness  is  complete. 

The  route  between  here  and  Nuremberg  is  not 
of  especial  interest,  therefore  we  read  our  letters 
and  finally  got  up  a  small  excitement  for  our  own 
amusement.  As  the  train  draws  into  Ansbach, 
the  much-dreaded  cry  of  "  Alles  austeigen  1 '"  rings 
out,  and  we  are  emptied  from  our  car,  bag  and 
baggage.  As  the  other  train  comes  in  we  find,  to 
our  consternation,  no  third-class  cars  are  attached, 
so,  after  a  frantic  scramble  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form, and  the  using  of  much  very  bad  German,  we 
get  into  a  second-class  "  damen  coupe."  A  new 
conductor  comes  to  see  our  tickets  before  closing 
the  doors,  and  to  our  horror  he  announces  the  fact 
that  we  cannot  go  on. 

"  Why  not  ? "  we  demand  in  chorus. 

"  Because  you  have  third-class  tickets  !  Come 
out  sehr  quick  ;  the  train  must  go  ! "  he  said  in  the 
howlingest  tone  of  voice  he  could  summon. 


178  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  Indeed  I  shall  not,"  I  answer ;  "  here  is  gelt ; 
what  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

Seeing  we  were  not  emigrants,  he  dispatched 
three  blue-coated  officials,  one  to  hold  the  train, 
one  to  inquire  the  price  of  extra  tickets,  and  the 
other  to  follow  up  the  others,  I  expect.  However, 
we  had  the  entire  corps  at  our  disposal,  all  for  the 
difference  of  a  little  over  seventy-five  cents  in  our 
tickets,  which  in  America  could  have  been  paid  to 
the  conductor  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it. 

As  the  train  moved  out,  a  pretty  German  lady, 
who  had  helped  us  somewhat  by  talking  English, 
indulged  in  a  laugh  all  by  herself,  until  her  very 
dainty  blonde  daughter  in  an  opposite  corner 
asked  the  cause  of  her  glee.  In  pretty  broken 
English  she  replied  :  "  I  am  laughing  at  dat  little 
American  lady's  telling  to  the  conductor,  '  Sie 
werden  not  all  austeigen,  wenn  die  tickets  sie 
hat  not.' " 

This  English  I  saw  was  for  my  benefit,  and  as  I 
was  the  "little  woman  "  referred  to,  we  soon  fell  to 
chatting  about  everything  in  general  and  nothing 
in  particular. 

"  You  wanted  to  Nuremberg  to-night  %to  come 
very  much,  Ich  denke  ? "  she  at  last  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "and  we  are  going  to  get 
there,  too,  despite  the  conductor  nearly  made  us 
miss  it." 


ON    THE    CONTINENT.  179 

Courtesies  exchanged  en  route  made  us  quite 
friends  before  we  came  to  Nuremberg,  and  I  found 
she  was  the  wife  of  a  Protestant  clergyman  living 
not  far  from  the  Rhine,  and  that  they  were  to  visit 
rich  relatives  in  the  city. 

A  little  Viennese  woman  beside  me  also  thought 
my  German  very  entertaining,  and  the  conductor, 
as  well,  looked  upon  us  as  American  curiosities. 
Fortunately  this  ticket  diversion  was  not  for 
naught.  In  the  hurry  of  arriving  at  Nuremberg 
and  the  saying  of  good-byes,  I  left  my  rain-coat  in 
the  car,  which,  having  gone  on  to  Ratisbon,  a  tele- 
gram has  just  caused  to  be  returned  to  me,  thanks 
to  the  Viennese  being  honest  and  the  conductor 
aware  of  my  nationality.  Thus  each  day  and  each 
journey  brings  its  experiences,  often  in  retrospect 
more  amusing  than  in  participation. 


LETTER    XI. 
Delights   of    Paris. 

Some  Notes  of  the  Latest  Fashion  in  Clothes — Jeanne  a"  Arc 
in  Pantomime — Clean  Streets  and  Cheap  Cabs — A  Rough 
Voyage — Annoyances  in  New  York. 

Paris,  September  7,  1S90. 

Arrival  in  a  metropolis,  after  several  weeks  of 
rapid  travel  and  sight-seeing,  is  like  the  end  of  a 
chapter  in  an  exciting  tale.  Breath  may  be  taken, 
the  book  may  even  be  closed,  with  a  finger  be- 
tween the  leaves,  and  a  moment  of  quiet  indulged 
in  before  the  mad  plunge  into  the  denouement  ; 
but  the  reprieve  is  only  momentary.  You  must 
go  on,  and  if  what  follows  be  Paris,  "  Oh,  where 
may  rest  be  found,"  until  the  end  of  the  story  ? 

It  is  rather  pleasant  to  feel  you  have  assisted  to 
cause  a  ripple  of  excitement  in  so  vast  a  city,  as 
you  rightly  do,  when  a  passenger  on  the  Orient 
Express,  or  "  flyer  "  of  Europe,  which  steams  into 
theTiare  de  1'  Est  at  five  o'clock  every  afternoon. 
The  arrival  of  this  train  is  the  event  of  the  day  in 
that  quarter  ;  but  only  the  necessity  of  accomplish-. 


DELIGHTS   OF  PARIS.  181 

ing  the  distance  between  Munich  and  Paris  in 
sixteen  hours  would  ever  warrant  the  ordinary 
traveler  in  such  an  indulgence. 

To  one  who  has  seen,  piecemeal,  the  territory 
which  it  so  rapidly  traverses,  it  affords  a  charming 
resume  ;  and  revives  memories  of  many  days,  in- 
stead of  seconds,  spent  en  route. 

While  at  breakfast,  the  one  tower  of  Strass- 
burg  Cathedral  can  be  seen  from  all  sides,  as 
the  train  winds  into  this  fairest  of  cities  Alsatian, 
and  then,  almost  before  it  seems  possible  to  have 
accomplished  the  distance,  the  gray  spires  of 
Nancy's  famous  churches  break  the  monotony  of 
hill  and  dale. 

From  here  until  Eperney  is  reached,  the  sinuous 
Marne  lies  smiling  in  the  lap  of  the  land,  or  is 
lost  to  view  from  time  to  time  between  its  vine- 
clad  hills. 

Why  should  Eperney  be  especially  mentioned, 
do  you  ask  ?  Because  'tis  a  habit  we  have  of  get- 
ting out  here,  for  what  purpose  the  uninitiated 
tourist  may  not  quite  appreciate. 

In  a  pretty  little  station,  over  clean  counters,  in 
iridescent  glasses,  such  as  Rembrandt  is  always 
holding  up  before  his  wife  in  their  pictures,  is 
served — what  do  you  suppose  ? 

Beer  ?     Germany  is  an  endurance  of  the  past. 

Claret  ?     Italy  is  loin  d' ici. 


182  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Milk  ?  Water  ?  America  is  more  than  half-seas- 
over. 

Whisky  ?     Ireland  is  still  beyond  the  channel. 

No  !  no !  no  !  to  all  and  every  guess,  unless 
I  heard  some  one  say  champagne,  and  if  so  he 
is  right. 

Yes,  champagne  !  with  Veuve  Cliquot's  man- 
sion only  a  few  miles  away.  So  plentifully 
did  it  flow  for  ten  cents  a  class,  that  for  all  we 
knew  our  iron  horse  was  drinking  it  as  well.  For 
total  abstainers  the  alluring  grapes  were  piled 
in  tempting  displays  on  the  counter,  from  which 
they  could  sip  champagne  ciu  naturel,  and  not  feel 
the  pangs  of  conscience  in  consequence  of  the 
indulgence. 

After  this  diversion  we  begin  to  look  for  pre- 
monitory glimpses  of  what  we  know  are  the  out- 
skirts of  Paris,  and  are  soon  rewarded  and  finally 
set  down  in  the  city. 

The  intricacies  of  the  Douane  passed,  we  find 
ourselves  in  the  busy  boulevards  at  once,  and 
before  the  distance  between  the  station  and  our 
destination  in  the  Champs-Elysees  is  accomplished, 
the  fact  that  we  have  not  mingled  in  this  gay 
whirl  for  two  years  is  forgotten  in  the  sensation 
that  has  come  over  us  of  being  again  chez  nous. 
Thank   fortune  !    one   never  has  to  become  re-ac- 


DELIGHTS   OF  PARIS.  183 

quainted  with  Paris.  When  it  is  once  well  known, 
one  simply  begins  where  one  left  off. 

Now  since  I  don't  pretend  to  have  seen  Paris 
from  any  but  a  woman's  stand-point,  I  am  goi»g  to 
answer  two  at  least  of  the  many  questions  I  am 
sure  would  be  put  to  me  were  I  in  dear,  dearer, 
dearest  Buffalo  at  this  moment.  "  What  are  they 
wearing  ? "  shall  be  answered  first.  And  "  What  did 
you  go  to  see  ?  "  later  on. 

A  keen  observer  at  the  Bon  Marche  need  ask  no 
questions  as  to  styles,  for  where  certain  goods  are 
found  piled  upon  counters  and  labeled  "  occasion  " 
(bargain)  those  articles  are  sure  to  be  passe.  How- 
ever this  need  not  deter  one  from  buying  from  this 
same  counter,  since  it  takes, styles  fully  two  years 
to  migrate  to  America,  and  what  is  no  longer  in 
vogue  here  will  still  be  new  across  the  sea. 

The  novelties  are  sure  to  be  hung  high  and  dry 
on  lines  above  the  counters,  marked  in  plain 
figures,  equally  high  and  dry.  Thus  the  would-be 
purchaser  must  pay  well  for  advanced  tastes. 

In  gowns,  the  newest  are  made  straight  up  and 
down,  of  woolen  or  uncut  velvet  fabrics.  Upon 
these,  pipings  of  heavy  ribbed  silk  or  woolen  fan- 
tasies are  used  as  garniture,  with  perhaps  an 
occasional  revere  of  the  same  material.  Cloth  is 
all  the  rage,  and  cloth  of  another  shade  on  cloth 


1 84  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

is  considered  to  give  a  garment  beaucoup  de  cachet, 
and  costs  beaucoup  de  cash,  eh  ?     Indeed  it  does  ! 

Extremely  small  black  and  white  shepherd's 
plaid  is  de  rigueur,  and  these  can  be  worn  when  in 
fine  camel-hair  or  velvet,  for  fashionable  functions 
of  any  nature.  Sleeves  are  still  puffed  high  at 
the  shoulder  and  are  dainty  when  finished  at  the 
wrist  with  a  band  of  guipure  insertion. 

Hats  and  bonnets  are  made  long  in  the  brim, 
and  all  trimming  is  bunched  on  directly  over  the 
front  and  back.  The  favorite  adornment  of  bon- 
nets, which  are  mostly  in  jet,  is  clusters  of  minia- 
ture ostrich  tips,  which  nod  and  beckon  at  one 
from  every  recent  purchase.  On  hats  the  same 
pert  effect  can  be  had  by  bunches  of  tiny  birds, 
which  are  more  endurable  for  all  kinds  of  weather, 
and  for  those  who  object  to  birds,  rosettes  of 
narrow  ribbon  may  be  substituted. 

Boas  for  the  neck  are  selling  cheap,  and  ruches 
of  artificial  flowers  in  bewitching  shades,  as  well 
as  of  China  silk,  and  colored  laces  are  expensive, 
and  consequently  stylish. 

"Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows,"  I 
felt  like  remarking  when  at  the  glove  counter  they 
informed  me,  there  were  plenty  of  tan-colored 
gloves,  and  a  scarcity  of  steel-gray  and  pearl. 

In  the  mercerie  department,  or  notions,  as  we 
would    call    it,    I    demanded   something    with    the 


DELIGHTS  OF  PARIS.  185 

Eifel  tower  upon  it,  just  to  hear  what  the  clerk 
would  say.  He  promptly  rewarded  me  by  remark- 
ing, "  C'est  fini,  le  tour  d 'Eifel.  "Yes,  I  know  it  is 
finished,"  I  replied,  pretending  not  to  understand 
him,  "but  is  it  not  still  the  rage  ?"  "  Au  contraire, 
Madame"  he  answered,  "c'est  maintenant  Jeanne 
d' 'Arc,"  and  he  surely  did  speak  the  truth. 

The  maiden  whom  France  sold,  has  arisen  from 
her  ashes  to  hold  sway  over  this  fickle  nation 
more  victoriously  than  any  of  its  earthly  em- 
presses ever  did.  Her  statue  is  begirt  with 
garlands  in  the  Rue  du  Rivoli,  her  portrait  is 
in  every  shop  window,  and  her  name  in  every 
mouth. 

From  good  authority  I  understand  Bernhardt's 
impersonation  of  this  heroine  was  a  failure,  no 
matter  what  good  there  was  said  of  it.  She  simply 
didn't  fill  the  bill,  vain  woman  that  she  was  to 
attempt,  at  her  age,  to  imitate  such  youth  and 
beauty.  As  one  critic  summed  it  up,  "She  did 
not  have  the  legs  to  do  it,  much  less  the  face." 

At  the  Hippodrome  the  tour  de  force  of  the 
evening  for  many  weeks  has  been  a  three-act 
pantomime  of  Jeanne's  history.  The  tremendous 
ring,  which  during  the  first  half  of  the  evening  is 
enlivened  by  chariot  and  .horse-races,  clowns' 
gambols  and  gymnasts'  ups  and  downs  in  life,  is, 
after  a  wait  oi  barely  fifteen  minutes,  transformed 


1 86  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

into  the  village  of  Domremy,  in  which  Jeanne 
d'Arc  was  born. 

Her  father's  cottage  is  brought  in  entire,  and 
the  turf  and  winding  high  road  through  the  village 
are  made  by  immense  canvas  coverings,  which 
many  hands  make  light  work  of  stretching  over 
the  ring.  Then  canvases,  which  give  distance  to 
the  scene  and  a  background,  are  pulled  down  over 
the  upright  boards  inclosing  the  ring,  trees  are 
planted,  and  a  sheep  enclosure  made  with  a  rustic 
fence. 

In  front  of  the  house  is  a  huge  public  well, 
where  the  village  women  wash  clothes,  and  upon 
which  they  hang  them  to  dry,  while  the  "men 
folks "  are  gossiping  with  a  group  of  shepherds, 
who  have  driven  a  real  flock  of  sheep  into  the 
the  aforementioned  fold. 

By  and  by  a  crowd  of  villagers  animate  the 
green,  while  a  Corydon  plays  Normandy  sheep 
songs  on  his  flageolet  to  his  Phyllis.  Then  a  team 
of  milk-white  oxen  drag  a  cart  full  of  hay  through 
the  main  street,  and  their  guide  stops  to  give  two 
pretty  girls  a  ride.  They  are  cheered  by  their 
less  fortunate  comrades  as  they  amble  off  at  a 
snail's  pace. 

As  the  Angelus  rings,  our  heroine  comes  forth 
from  her  cottage  to  pray,  but  her  devotions  are 
interrupted  by  heavenly  voices.    Coming  nearer  and 


DELIGHTS  OF  PARIS.  187 

nearer,  they  prove  to  be  two  angels  ( real  live 
women  let  down  by  invisible  wires,  which  the 
keenest  eye  cannot  detect ),  whose  presence  casts 
a  wondrous  halo  of  glory  about  the  homely  spot 
and  fragile  girl,  until  just  above  the  village  well 
they  halt  for  a  second. 

Now  come  the  commands  of  duty  and  directions 
how  to  save  France,  and  with  a  supreme  effort 
she  advances  to  receive  the  heaven-given  badge  of 
office,  her  sword.  As  her  hand  receives  this,  she 
swoons  with  very  fear  while  the  angels  disappear 
into  the  well,  from  which  issue  clouds  of  hissing 
steam. 

At  this  crisis  her  family  rush  out,  to  find  her 
waving  the  huge  sword  above  her  head,  and  as 
she  tells  them  of  her  vision  and  its  irremediable 
result,  she  mounts  a  white  palfry  that  has  also 
mysteriously  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  rides 
away  from  our  sight. 

In  the  next  act,  by  a  slight  twist  of  the  wrist, 
the  family  home  becomes  a  castle,  behind  whose 
draw-bridge  are  an  English  garrison  of  about 
twenty  men.  The  village  is  en  fete,  and  the  green, 
a  mass  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  women, 
and  children. 

Finally  many  Normandy  peasant  dances  are 
indulged  in,  to  the  time  of  most  weird  airs,  and 
just  as  all  is  going  merrily,  the  French  army  rush 


188  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

on  with  Jeanne,  at  their  head,  who  with  a  force  of 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers,  horse  and 
foot,  surprises  and  takes  the  English  garrison. 
This  event  of  the  pantomime  is  the  only  part  at 
all  incongruous,  and  it  is  laughable  to  see  the 
handful  of  English  soldiers  throwing  papier-mache 
missiles  at  the  French  force,  who  with  scaling 
ladders  soon  invade  the  fort  and  capture  the 
enemy. 

The  third  act,  after  a  wait  of  ten  minutes,  gives 
us  the  town  of  Rouen.  The  castle  has  been 
drawn  out  into  the  center  of  the  ring,  and  trans- 
formed into  the  scaffold — directly  over  the  well. 
All  the  greensward  has  been  rolled  up  and  carted 
out,  and  from  the  Hippodrome's  dome  has  been 
let  down  a  circular  band  of  gauze  upon  which  is 
painted  the  town  of  Rouen. 

In  order  to  make  this  most  consummately  clever 
bit  of  painting  visible  on  all  sides,  the  lights  out- 
side in  the  audience  are  extinguished,  and  huge 
electric  burners  inside  the  ring  are  set  flaring. 
Thus  from  the  dark  one  looks  into  the  heart  of 
this  city,  and  the  audience  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  ring  is  utilized  to  make  the  crowd  that  would 
naturally  be  in  the  streets,  to  witness  such  an 
infamous  spectacle:  Of  course,  we  on  our  side  of 
the  ring  are  returning  the  compliment,  but  so 
absorbing  does  the  tragedy  become,  that  until  all 


DELIGHTS  OF  PARIS.  189 

is  over  we  do  not  realize  the  fact,  and  I  doubt  if 
after  a  day  at  Oberammergau,  we  would  believe 
any  scenic  effect  impossible,  in  this  day  of  talent 
and  ingenuity. 

As  the  entrance  of  the  betrayed  maiden  is  her- 
alded by  monks,  who  chant  the  Miserere,  a  calm 
falls  upon  the  audience,  as  nature  seems  hushed 
before  a  storm.  Then  follow  the  officers  of  church 
and  state,  in  gorgeous  robes  of  various  colors, 
and  finally  in  white  garments,  the  lamb  for  the 
sacrifice,  brave  Jeanne  d'Arc,  with  unbound  hair, 
bowed  head,  and  clasped  hands. 

I  expected  she  would  walk  in,  but  no,  she  was 
in  a  common  ox-cart,  and  about  her  were  the 
fagots  in  huge  bundles  which  were  taken  up  on  the 
scaffold  as  she  was  helped  to  alight  by  her  father 
confessor.  At  the  steps  of  the  scaffold  she  pauses, 
and  with  a  pathos  that  should  have  melted  heart 
of  stone,  pleads,  but  all  in  vain,  for  her  life. 

At  this,  one  of  the  executioners  rudely  ap- 
proaches her,  and  with  brutal  gestures  reminds 
her  of  her  fate.  Unrebuked,  she  follows  him, 
encouraged  by  the  friar,  and  after  one  fond  and 
lingering  glance  about  the  city,  goes  firmly  up  the 
steps  and  places  herself  against  the  stake. 

Here  one  would  expect  the  audience  to  break 
forth  into  applause,  but  the  fact  is,  they  have  for- 
gotten this  is  a  play-pretend  scen'e,  and  I  do  not 


igo  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

believe  there  is  a  being  in  the  audience  whose 
blood  does  not  curdle  in  his  veins,  as  the  fagots 
are  fired,  and  the  still  white  figure  is  lost  in  sight 
amid  the  roaring  flames. 

As  they  somewhat  subside,  a  rushing  noise  is 
heard,  and  from  the  embers  issues  suddenly  a 
gilded  equestrian  statue  of  the  martyr,  clad  in 
armor,  sword  in  hand. 

Now  from  all  quarters  of  the  city  come  com- 
panies of  peasants  of  every  division  of  France, 
in  native  attire,  who  group  themselves  about  the 
base  of  the  statue  until  it  bristles  with  humanity. 
Then,  with  one  accord,  goes  up  a  song  of  triumph, 
through  which  the  weird  Normandy  folk-song  of 
her  youth  weaves  itself  in  and  out  in  pathetic  and 
tremulous. waves,  until  the  end  of  the  chorus. 

The  fact  that  not  one  word  has  been  spoken 
from  start  to  finish  is  forgotten,  and  the  represen- 
tation is  unanimously  declared  to  have  been  skill- 
fully conducted.  No  wonder,  in  face  of  this 
attraction,  Sara  Bernhardt  took  a  vacation. 

A  few  moments  later  the  scene  for  us  is 
changed.  Out  on  the  boulevards  cabmen  impor- 
tune you  to  employ  them,  crying  "  Batignolles  !  " 
(a  distant  quarter  of  Paris),  "  Environs  de  Paris  !  " 
A  year  ago  these  were  unwilling  to  drive  you  for 
almost  any  price  more  than  a  square  or  two. 

Soon  we  are  on  the  Champs- Ely  sees  and  seated 


DELIGHTS  OF  PARIS.  191 

in  front  of  one  of  its  gilded  cafes,  where  the  best 
we  can  get  is  a  "  limonade"  while  we  sigh  for  ice- 
cream soda.  This  drink,  too,  is  not  even  made  of 
lemons  and  water,  but  of  lime  juice,  or  citric  acid, 
and  soda  fizz. 

Inside,  three  beturbaned  and  short  -  skirted 
women  are  playing  on  the  piano  and  violin,  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room  a  blase  woman  sits 
smoking  cigarettes  a  la  unnatural  young  American 
girls  in  Ouida's  novels,  or  the  real  French  coucoutes 
of  Daudet. 

''Are  the  players  Hungarians?"  I  ask  of  the 
gar  con. 

"Out,  Madame"  he  quickly  replies,  " Hongroises 
des  boulevardes  de  Montmartre." 

Not  satisfied  with  one  pantomime,  we  go  the 
next  evening  to  see  Felecie  Mallet  distinguish 
herself  in  "L'Enfant  Prodigue,"  or  "  The  Infant 
Prodigy,"  as  I  heard  a  countryman  translate  it. 
She  certainly  succeeds  in  impersonating  a  most 
fascinating  young  roue,  and  I  wonder  if  Ada 
Rehan,  who  watched  most  intently  her  every 
motion,  had  any  thoughts  of  endeavoring  to  pro- 
duce it  across  the  sea.  She  is  certainly  versatile 
enough  to  play  the  part  of  the    "  Prodigal  Son," 

an  American  audience  would  endure  it. 

Fortunately  Pierro  has  no  part  to  speak,  and  yet 
every  motion    of    face   and    figure    is   so    fraught 


192  AS    WE    SAW  IT   IN  '90. 

with  meaning  that  I  wondered  at  the  presence  of 
young  children. 

The  next  day  a  matron,  with  a  daughter  of 
eighteen,  asked  me  if  it  was  anything  she  could 
take  the  girl  to  see,  and,  as  I  saw  she  wanted  to 
see  it  herself,  I  replied  :  "  The  first  act  is  all 
right,  the  second  un  peu  risquable.  Take  your 
daughter  out  for  an  ice  then,  and  return  for  .the 
third  and  last  act."  I  never  learned  whether  she 
took  my  advice. 

Of  course  I  was  too  late  to  see  any  of  the  Salon 
pictures  en  masse,  but  I  am  told  the  rupture  in  the 
Academy  has  resulted  in  a  new  and  old  Salon,  the 
first  of  which  held  its  own  this  last  spring  and 
presented  prizes,  with  no  less  a  figure-head  for 
president  than  Meissonier. 

In  both  of  these  our  former  townswoman,  Mrs. 
Garrett  C.  Daboll,  had  a  portrait  accepted.  They 
were  on  porcelain,  one  being  of  herself  and  the 
other  of  her  mother,  and  in  her  charming  home 
on  the  Avenue  de  1' Opera  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
admiring  them. 

Two  luxuries  I  would  like  to  transplant  to 
Buffalo  from  Paris,  viz.:  the  clean  streets,  with 
clear,  almost  drinkable  water  always  flowing  in 
the  gutters,  and  cheap  cabs.  I  believe  we  could 
have  cheaper  cabs  in  Buffalo  if  a  man  was  willing 
to  make  ten  journeys  in  a  day  instead  of  standing 


DELIGHTS  OF  PARIS.  193 

for  hours  in  such  a  windy  quarter  as  Lafayette 
Square. 

Unemployed  men  could  easily  earn  money  in 
this  way.  I  think  these  are  the  men  that  do  such 
work  in  Paris,  for  certainly  they  cannot  receive 
much  wages,  and  an  expert  in  any  paying  trade 
could  never  afford  to  do  such  work. 

Everyone  is  employed  here,  and  there  is  no 
beggary.  The  jean-jacketed  porter  and  white- 
capped  maid  have  cheery  voices  and  clean  faces. 
Many  a  rich  woman  in  other  lands  might  learn 
a  lesson  from  a  poor  French  woman's  feet.  They 
are  always  well  shod,  and  as  for  ankles,  they 
excel  all  other  country-women  for  trigness  in  this 
particular. 

After  a  week  of  sunshine  here,  we  are  antici- 
pating weather  to  order  for  both  our  channel 
and  ocean  trips,  which  are  near  at  hand.  Perfect 
days  have  made  it  possible  to  accomplish  a 
great  deal,  and  yet  one  never  wishes  to  leave 
Paris  for  the  uncertainties  of  the  sea. 


New  York,  September  22,  1890. 

Being  interrupted  in  Paris,  I  found  I  could  finish 
this  letter  in  New  York  and  get  it  to  Buffalo  as 
soon  as  if  sent  from  there.  The  above  short  and 
long  dashes  signify  channel  and  ocean.  The  first, 
as  you  see,  was  calm  and  consequently  enjoyable  ; 
the  latter  too  unpleasant  to  be  mentioned  in  polite 
society. 

Among  the  passengers  were  many  well-known 
men,  such  as  Consul-General  John  C.  New,  of 
Indianapolis ;  Dr.  F.  O.  St.  Clair,  of  Washing- 
ton, D.  C.  ;  Rev.  J.  W.  Hamilton,  of  Boston  ;  Dr. 
A.  P.  Van  Giesen,  of  Poughkeepsie  ;  Prof.  C.  M. 
Vincent,  the  great  explorer,  from  everywhere  ;  C. 
E.  Cookman,  of  New  York  ;  George  B.  Howell,  of 
Albany ;  Dr.  \V.  M.  Hudson,  of  Hartford,  and 
others. 

The  Berlin  behaved  her  prettiest  in  the  meanest 
and  most  persistent  head-wind  on  record,  and  jolly 
Capt.  Land  (it  is  such  a  comfort  to  see  land  when 
in  the  midst  of  the  sea)  did  all  that  could  be 
thought  of  for  the  convenience  and  comfort  of 
those  of  us  who  came  above. 


IN  NEW    YORK.  195 

Never  did  terra  firma  feel  more  unsteady,  or  a 
quiet  bed  cut  up  more  antics  than  were  experi- 
enced yesterday  ;  but  'tis  America,  nevertheless, 
and  New  York  notwithstanding  ;  and  who  could 
desire  to  be  anywhere  else  than  in  "  the  land  of 
the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? " 

New  York  is  looking  its  best,  and  the  shops  hold 
their  own  most  decidedly.  The  rivals  of  Redfern, 
Deutsch  &  Co.  have  just  opened  the  most  elegant 
and  artistic  show-rooms  in  the  world,  corner  of 
Fifth  avenue  and  Twenty-second  street,  and  if 
their  windows  are  an  index  to  their  styles,  they 
should  succeed. 

New  York  women  are  always  the  daintiest  and 
most  stylish  creatures  in  the  world,  in  my  estima- 
tion, and  as  for  the  men,  they  certainly  surpass 
those  of  any  other  nation  in  form  and  face. 

Houses  are  being  opened  up,  and  the  warm 
weather,  which  seems  most  oppressive  after  ocean 
breezes,  does  not  seem  to  deter  their  occupants 
from  returning  to  them. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  epidemic  of  losing 
luggage  will  cease  when  cold  weather  comes  ; 
otherwise  I  shall  be  forced  to  retract  much  of  the 
praise  I  have  given  our  system  of  checking  this 
summer  whenever  the  opportunity  presented  itself. 

Just  at  present  I  have  no  personal  grievance  in 
that  respect,  but  I  would  like  to  suggest  that  the 


ig6  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Hudson  River  road  get  a  new  corps  of  men  in  its 
New  York  baggage-room.  If  I  had  been  a  for- 
eigner to-day  and  had  been  treated  as  rudely  as  I 
was,  there  would  have  been  a  chance  for  some 
invidious  comparisons.  One  of  my  trunks  had 
been  sent  from  the  dock,  after  the  custom-house 
examination,  minus  one  strap.  I  saw  this  and 
asked  the  burly  porter,  who  had  been  in  that 
station  for  years,  if  he  had  a  piece  of  rope  to  put 
around  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  buy  a  strap  ?  Aint  got  no 
rope,"  he  rudely  replied. 

"  Have  you  them  for  sale  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  is  the  snappish  answer. 

**  How  much  are  they  ? " 

The  price  mentioned  was  more  than  I  cared  to 
indulge  in,  so  he?  with  a  most  vindictive  look, 
weighed  the  piece,  a  thing  I  never  had  done  before 
in  all  the  years  I  have  passed  over  the  road,  and 
because  I  would  not  buy  his  strap,  took  out  his 
revenge  in  charging  a  good,  round  sum  for  my 
trunk. 

Now  I  am  convinced  that  if  this  had  been 
in  England,  or  even  on  the  continent,  any  bag- 
gageman would  have  at  least  answered  me  civilly, 
and,  I  am  sure,  would  have  tied  up  the  trunk, 
especially  if,  as  was  the  case  here,  there  was  no 
rush  of  business. 


IN  NEW    YORK.  197 

The  new  "  Transatlantic  Indemnity  Baggage 
Checking  Company,"  with  offices  both  in  Europe 
and  America,  may  force  local  offices  to  look  to 
their  laurels,  as  its  employees  are  most  gentle- 
manly men. 

One  of  them  offered  to  unstrap  and  unlock  my 
trunks  on  the  dock  in  New  York,  quite  unsolicited, 
and  the  persons  having  luggage  in  their  care  were 
met  and  enabled  to  depart  before  anyone  else, 
through  the  promptness  of  the  men  in  charge. 

And  now,  before  I  say  hail  and  farewell,  let  me 
tell  you  that  "  Tiddledy  Winks "  is  the  hero  of 
the  hour  in  New  York,  and  I  hear  a  rumor  that 
"  Halma,"  the  former  favorite,  is  already  black 
and  yellow  with  rage,  and  trembling  in  his  boots 
for  fear  of  dethronement.  Has  Buffalo  yet  be- 
come a  victim  to  his  charms  !  If  not,  it  should, 
and  I  shall  take  pains  to  inquire  upon  my  arrival 
not  many  days  hence. 


INNSPRUCK    TO    OBERAMMERGAU 


zlrl,    mlttenwald,    partenkirchen, 
Oberau  and  Ettal. 

Upon  our  arrival  in  Innspruck  it  was  raining  in 
torrents,  and  the  River  Inn  was  swollen  and  rush- 
ing wildly  over  its  winding  bed.  By  the  kind 
advice  of  an  Austrian  gentleman  we  had  met  in 
the  train,  we  went  directly  across  the  street  from 
the  station,  as  it  was  very  late,  to  the  Hotel  de 
1'  Europe. 

The  proprietor  said  he  had  not  a  single  bed- 
room, but  would  give  our  party  his  two  private 
parlors,  and  we  were  accordingly  ushered  up  to 
them.  They  were  gorgeous !  Yellow  damask- 
covered  furniture,  lace  curtains,  etc.,  among  which 
the  small  beds,  evidently  put  there  for  the  occa- 
sion, looked  most  out  of  place. 

In  the  morning  we  discovered  we  had  been  so 
spry  at  getting  into  the  hotel  the  previous  evening 
that  our  kind  friend  had  been  forced  to  go  to  the 
Tiroler  Hof,  close  at  hand  in  the  same  square. 
Another  time  I  should  go  there,  too,  unless  I 
wanted  quaintness,  and  a  chance  to  mingle  with 
the  people,  and,  if  so,  the  "Goldner  Adler'  would 
be  the  one  to  select. 


OBERAMMERGA  U.  199 

It  was  Friday  morning,  and  we  were  now  on  the 
threshold  of  Oberammergau,  but  as  yet  had  made 
no  arrangements  for  seeing  the  much-looked- 
forward-to  event,  the  "  Passion  Play." 

The  fact  was  I  had  learned  that  many  who  had 
engaged  places  through  Cook  &  Gaze  for  former 
representations,  were  not  as  impressed  with  the 
arrangements  made  for  them  as  these  companies 
expected  them  to  be.  I  therefore  concluded  to 
take  my  chances  all  around,  having  previously 
written  twice,  and  from  Innspruck  telegraphed  to 
Burgomaster  Lang  that  "  we  were  coming." 

As  I  said,  it  was  positively  too  late  the  evening 
previous,  for  us  to  make  any  arrangements  for  our 
start  on  the  morrow,  especially  when  we  learned 
that  the  diligence  through  to  Oberammergau  left 
at  4.30  or  5  a.  m.,  for  a  drive  of  many  miles. 
But  first  thing  this  morning,  I  inquired  of  our  host 
the  price  of  a  carriage  and  pair  for  four  to  Ober- 
ammergau. He  told  me  one  hundred  and  twenty 
marks  would  cover  all  costs,  this  being  equal  to 
twenty-four  dollars  of  our  money. 

By  chance  I  happened  into  the  Tiroler  Hof,  and 
the  very  polite  blue-coated  porter  suggested  I  try  to 
get  a  "return  wagon,"  as  he  called  it,  one  belong- 
ing to  Oberammergau.  I  caught  at  the  idea  at 
once,  and  with  my  brother  went  in  search  of  such  a 
commodity  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Goldner  Adler. 


200  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

"  'Twas  a  misty,  moisty  morning,  when  cloudy 
was  the  weather,"  but  we  called  it  charming — for 
the  Tyrol,  you  know — thankful  enough  that  it  was 
not  raining. 

The  interior  of  this  ancient  hostel  was  a  study 
for  an  artist ;  but  I  only  partially  enjoyed  it,  since 
the  time  I  passed  beneath  its  antique  ceiling  was 
occupied  by  my  endeavors  to  impart  my  errand,  in 
an  unfamiliar  tongue,  to  the  women  in  charge.  At 
the  time  I  was  so  much  in  earnest,  that  I  could  not 
see  myself  as  others  saw  me  ;  but  when,  by  various 
gyrations,  they  had  explained  to  me,  that  there 
was  a  man  there  with  a  "return  wagon,"  but  that 
he  had  gone  to  the  smithy  with  his  horses,  I  had 
time  to  muse  upon  our  impromptu  pantomime  and 
fully  realized  its  absurdity. 

Just  here  the  man  came  in,  but  since  neither 
gestures  nor  my  original  German  made  the  least 
impression  on  him,  I  suggested  we  return  to  the 
kind  porter  and  get  his  help.  This  we  did,  and  I 
really  must  chronicle  the  fact  that  in  the  whole 
transaction,  he  did  by  me  as  by  himself,  reducing 
the  charge  from  ninety  to  sixty  marks,  everything 
included,  engaging  the  man  to  leave  at  noon  that 
day,  and  writing  out  a  contract  that  we  be  de- 
livered in  Oberammergau  by  noon  on  the  morrow. 

The  difference  of  fifty  marks  between  our  host's 
price  and  the  one  I  had  bargained  for,  made  me 


OBERAMMERGA  U.  201 

fully  satisfied  ;  and  when  I  returned  at  noon  for 
the  signed  contract,  I  assured  the  porter  in  a  solid 
manner  of  my  gratitude. 

Between  ten  and  twelve  we  did  the  town  from 
the  bank  to  the  Hofkirche,  in  which  is  the  unique 
tomb  of  the  Emperor  Maximillian  I. 

Alas !  A  heavy  mist  hung  over  the  town,  and 
at  noon  we  left  without  seeing  its  girdle  of  snow- 
covered  mountains,  which  the  atmosphere  told  us 
Avere  there. 

The  arcades,  brilliant  with  goods  displayed  to 
•catch  tourists'  eyes,  made  us  realize  Italy  was  not 
far  distant,  and  in  the  people's  faces,  in  their  lan- 
guage, and  in  their  names,  its  influence  was  most 
apparent. 

Over  the  Inn  we  go  on  the  briicke  that  gives  it 
its  name,  and  begin  very  soon  to  climb  into  the 
mountains. 

We  are  friends  with  our  coachman  from  the 
start,  although,  from  all  advice  given  us,  we  hold 
ourself  in  readiness  to  defeat  any  attempt  on  his 
part,  or  the  people  in  the  town  towards  which  we. 
tend,  to  cheat  us.  Yes,  we  have  his  signed  con- 
tract in  an  inside  pocket,  and  from  it  we  learn  his 
name  is  Xavier  Rassmadl. 

What  a  huge,  brawny  man  he  was  !  and  what  a 
warm  coat  he  wore  !  Like  himself,  his  laugh  was 
big  and  hearty,  and  we  noticed  he  walked  for  miles 
up  steep  hills,  rather  than  add  a  pound  to  the  load. 


202  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

From  Innspruck  to  Zirl  we  follow  the  windings 
of  the  Inn,  going  up  a  gradual  ascent,  until  we  can 
look  east  and  west  for  miles  over  the  Innthal, 
whose  stream  feels  its  importance  in  being  a 
branch  of  the  Danube. 

Curious  windmills  attract  our  attention,  and 
with  all  there  is  to  see,  we  can  hardly  realize  that 
two  hours  have  been  consumed  during  this  climb. 
From  Zirl  to  Reith  we  have  two  extra  horses. 
Xavier  and  the  extra  man  both  walk,  and  we  get 
higher  and  higher,  having  left  the  Inn  at  Zirl,  and 
turned  our  faces  due  north. 

We  only  halted  once  during  this  pull,  and  that 
was  at  Leiten.  Here,  in  front  of  its  Gasthof 
Hirlchen,  we  divide  our  attention  between  the 
fine  view  of  the  Wetterstein  Gebirge  ( we  are 
up  nearly  4,000  feet)  and  a  beauteous  lad  who 
waters  our  horses.  He  was  at  play  with  dice, 
as  we  drove  up,  with  two  men  and  a  woman, 
at  a  table  outside  the  Gasthof.  Best  of  all,  he 
had  never  known  he  was  beautiful,  but  had 
been  born  and  might  in  all  probability  die  there, 
in  unconsciousness  of  what  a  face  he  possessed, 
like  the  Alpine  flowers  he  resembled. 

The  group  at  play  was  a  living  picture,  and  just 
such  as  Defregger  has  made  his  name  from  paint- 
ing. The  woman  was  so  busy  at  her  gambling 
that  she  almost  neglected  to  sell  her  beer  to  our 


OBERAMMERGA  U.  203 

two  men,  and,  without  moving,  would  call  out  in 
shrill  tones  to  some  one  within,  then  shake  her 
dice  and  grab  her  profits,  all  in  a  breath. 

The  houses  here  assume  an  azure  shade,  and  by 
the  time  Reith  is  reached,  they  are  sky-blue.  The 
preponderance  of  this  color  penetrates  us,  for  the 
mist  that  has  obligingly  held  itself  tantalizingly 
overhead  begins  to  fall,  and  as  the  darkness 
sets  in,  we  have  Xavier  close  all  the  carriage  win- 
dows, and  in  speechless  dreariness  abandon  our- 
selves to  our  thoughts.    . 

It  is  not  difficult  to  fancy  'tis  many  years  ago, 
and  that  we  are  wearing  powdered  wigs  and 
patches  on  our  faces.  We  are  going  to  a  wed- 
ding, in  our  private  carriage,  with  coachmen  and 
footmen  to  obey  our  commands,  and,  of  course, 
the  inevitable  postilion  on  the  leader.  Now  we 
are  stopped  at  a  border  town  by  brigands,  and 
but  for  the  bravery  of  our  servants,  would  have 
been  rifled  of  all  our  valuable  jewels,  like  the 
count  and  his  lady  in  "  Fra  Diavolo." 

Will  this  journey  never  end !  Yes,  with  -a 
"Whoa!"  and  a  pull  up,  which  gives  us  a  jog, 
we — awake  to  find  we  are  nineteenth  centuryites, 
and  as  far  as  Mittenwald. 

While  rubbing  our  eyes,  we  inquire  was  our 
dream  of  the  brigands  all  fancy,  or  did  Xavier 
really  stop  and  talk,  and  was  not  our  carriage  door 


204  AS    IV E    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

opened  by  a  man,  who  spoke  gruffly  ?  Yes,  we 
did  stop  back  at  the  Defile  of  Scharnitz,  on  the 
boundary  of  Bavaria  and  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  and 
that  we  must  have  been  asleep  ever  since  Seefeld 
and  Scharnitz  were  passed,  lulled,  no  doubt,  by 
fatigue,  the  intense  quiet,  and  the  murmur  of  the 
"  Isar,  rolling  rapidly  "  on  its  way  to  Munich. 

It  is  nine  o'clock,  and  the  message  sent  to  the 
"Post"  has  never  been  received, .the  host  tells  us. 
Alas  !  can  he  .take  us  in  at  so  late  an  hour  ? 

Jah,  wohl,  he  can,  is  the  happy  reply,  and  soon 
we  are  within  his  doors. 

To  describe  this  hostelry  with  pen  and  ink, 
would  need  more  time  than  I  can  give  to  it  now. 
Suffice  to  say,  as  we  were  bowed  in  and  up-stairs, 
we  felt  the  politeness  with  which  we  were  wel- 
comed, and  thought  what  was  the  use  of  bothering 
to  be  crowned  heads,  when  we  were  treated  as  such 
everywhere  we  went. 

The  entrance  hall  was  broad  and  long,  and 
paved  ;  the  first  flight  of  stairs  winding,  and  very, 
very  broad.  These  brought  us  to  a  huge  upper 
hall,  whose  front  half  was  cut  off  by  stained- 
glass  doors.  Then  the  next  flight  came  out  upon 
another  equally  large  and  square  hall  ( what 
dances  could  be  given  here  ! ),  and  the  rooms  we 
occupied  gave  upon  it. 

We    lose  no   time    in  getting  to   bed,  after   im- 


OBERAMMERGA  U.  205 

pressing  the  fact  upon  the  chambermaid  that  she 
must  "  rap  us  up  "  at  4.30.  Six  hours  and  a  half 
of  sleep  seems  "as  a  dream  that  is  told,"  when 
getting-up  time  comes.  The  maid,  after  she  raps, 
is  busy  polishing  our  boots  in  the  hall,  from 
which  she  appears  never  to  have  stirred. 

When  dressed  we  go  into  the  entrance  hall, 
and,  following  the  odor  of  coffee,  by  5.30  are  in 
the  dimly  lit  dining-room.  Many  are  there  before 
us,  for  it  seems  two  diligencies  had  come  in  the 
evening  before  and  one  early  that  morning.  The 
tussle  for  breakfast  being  over,  which  consisted  of 
"  kaffee,  brod  und  eier,"  we  find  our  coach  in  the 
center  of  the  paved  hall  and  are  thankful,  since 
it  is  raining  hard. 

From  my  bedroom  window  I  had  taken  in  the 
town  with  a  glance.  Quite  opposite  was  the 
Burgomaster's  residence,  a  yellow-plaster  house 
much  ornamented  with  frescoes,  and  at  this  early 
hour  watched  the  housemaid  take  off  the  window- 
boards.  Then,  in  order  to  get  some  money 
changed,  I  went  across  the  street,  and  passed  some 
of  the  violin  shops,  for  the  manufacture  of  which 
this  district  is  noted. 

Suffice  to  say,  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to 
remain  here  several  days,  in  fair  weather,  and 
to  make  some    of   the   many  excursions   into   the 


206  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

neighboring  valleys  and  mountains,  so  much 
recommended. 

From  Mittenwald  we  follow  the  mountain  road 
northwest,  for  ten  miles  to  Partenkirchen.  Here 
we  gladly  leave  the  carriage  for  some  refreshments, 
consisting  of  "  bouillon  mit  eier,"  wine  of  the 
country  and  "  weiss  brod."  The  table,  a  long  one, 
is  occupied  by  people  speaking  many  languages, 
and  from  the  stir  about  us,  and  the  noise  of  stages 
departing  and  arriving,  we  begin  to  realize  Ober- 
ammergau  is  not  far  distant. 

While  Xavier  rests  here  one  hour,  we  inspect  the 
modern  Gothic  church,  ablaze  within  with  tinsel, 
and  highly  colored  hangings  at  the  altar.  The 
main  street  is  muddy,  but  the  people  are  going 
about  all  in  curious  costumes,  and  at  this  hour  of 
nine  o'clock  are  busy  with  their  daily  avocations. 
Many  cattle  and  goats  are  driven  hither  and 
thither. 

This  wait  gives  us  time  to  get  somewhat 
acquainted  with  our  hostess,  a  fat  old  party, 
wearing  several  brilliant  diamond  rings.  In  the 
hall  with  us  a  priest  and  an  artist  "  wait  for  the 
wagon."  The  latter,  as  we  can  judge  by  his 
garments,  is  off  for  a  holiday,  and  by  chance  has 
met  the  priest.  As  the  unusually  pretty  waitresses 
pass  back  and  forth  from  the  tap  to  the  dining- 
room,  they  cast  languishing  looks  upon  him,  but 


OBEKAMMERGA  U.  207 

he  is  through  with  them,  as  he  shows  by  the  scowl 
he  gives  in  return.  The  girl  he  chucked  under 
the  chin  last  night,  kissed  and  used  as  a  model, 
is  this  morning  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  he  shows  a 
desire  to  maintain  his  dignity  in  the  presence  of 
his  fat  and  churchly  friend. 

It  is  rare  fun,  this  watching  the  coming  and 
going  in  the  inn,  "  Stern  "  by  name,  and  finally, 
after  all  the  diligences  have  departed  (how  glad 
we  are  not  to  be  tucked  in  one),  we  start  on 
our  way  to  Oberau. 

The  principal  object  of  interest  now  was  the 
weather  !  Would  it  or  would  it  not  clear,  was  the 
question  that  perplexed  us  !  We  were,  at  any  rate, 
in  a  warmer  and  lower  climate  than  the  evening 
before,  for  then  the  snow  covered  the  mountains, 
and  every  stream  was  swollen  to  its  utmost  capac- 
ity. It  was,  consequently,  more  like  late  November 
than  August,  and  we  dreaded  the  possibility  of  a 
rainy  Sunday  for  the  Passion  Play. 

Half-way  to  Oberau,  we  rest  our  horses  again  for 
forty  minutes.  The  carriage  is  left  in  front  of  the 
village  inn,  and  while  I  dismount  and  go  within  to 
write  a  Courier  letter,  our  artist  sits  in  the  car- 
riage and  sketches  the  most  picturesque  street  in 
the  village.  One  by  one,  the  villagers,  big  and 
little,  gather  about  the  carriage,  and  when  we 
depart  they  in  unison  declare  the  sketch  sehr  gut ! 


208  AS    IV £    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

sehr  schone  !  and  say  many  more  complimentary 
things  we  are  unable  to  understand,  but  which 
seem  to  please  Xavier. 

By  this  time  we  have  concluded  Xavier  is  not 
going  to  cheat  us,  and  in  some  unexplained  way 
have  managed  to  establish  friendly  relations  with 
him,  despite  we  cannot  understand  his  lingua. 

This  confidence  in  him  leads  to  our  engaging 
him  for  sixteen  marks  to  take  our  quartette  to 
Oberau,  after  the  play.  We  are  quite  satisfied 
when  we  find  Cook  &  Gaze  charge  five  marks 
each  to  jolt  one  in  their  common  wagons  over  the 
same  road. 

"  I  feel  as  uncertain  how  we  are  to  fare  at  Ober- 
ammergau,"  I  exclaim  to  my  comrades,  "as  I  do 
about  the  future  ;  but  somehow  I  have  confidence 
that  we  will  get  there  and  fare  all  right." 

We  ride  into  Oberau  over  a  plain  with  the 
mountains,  in  which  Oberammergau  is  hidden,  quite 
before  us.  Here  we  do  not  halt,  but  go  on  by  the 
new  government  road  that  ascends  for  two  and 
one-half  miles  by  rapid  turns  for  seven  hundred 
feet  to  Ettal. 

Before  us  are  many  diligences,  post-wagons  and 
pedestrians,  and  at  Oberau  we  see  the  railway 
which  is  finished  from  there  to  Partenkirchen. 
I  neglected  to  state  there  was  also  one  from  Inns- 
pruck  to  Zirl,  and  so  before  1900  there  will  be  a 


OBERAMMERGA  U.  209 

railway  the  entire  distance  from  Innspruck  to 
Munich. 

Since  the  route  from  Oberau  to  Oberammergau 
is  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  the  pilgrimage,  I 
doubt  very  much  if  this  holy  road  will  ever  be 
desecrated,  by  railway  traffic.  If  so,  the  entire 
solemnity  of  the  play  would  be  ruined  at  the 
beginning.  At  Ettal  we  pass  our  priest  and 
artist,  who,  evidently,  came  by  rail  to  Oberau, 
trudging  over  the  wet  and  gravelly  road  in  inter- 
ested conversation. 

How  beautiful  it  all  is !  and  what  a  quaint 
village !  But  we  cannot  stop  now,  although 
we  will  on  our  return,  to  visit  the  Moorish-looking 
monastery  and  church,  whose  cupola  and  minarets 
were  seen  long  before  we  reached  them. 

From  here  we  have  a  fine  view  of  the  Ettaler 
Mandl,  whose  bluff  peak  towers  five  thousand  feet 
high,  and  soon  we  descend  into  the  Amerthal. 

I  had  always  supposed  from  what  I  had  read  that 
Oberammergau  was  higher  than  Ettal.  You  see  I 
was  mistaken,  as  it  is,  by  actual  figures,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  below. 

This  places  it  in  a  broad  valley,  directly  on  the 
Ammer,  which  flows  through  the  town,  with  an 
amphitheatre  of  hills  for  a  beautiful  finish  about 
its  outskirts. 

As  we  approach  the  outlying  houses,  a  change 


210  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

from  the  many  shrines  <k>y  the  roadside,  Xavier 
turns  and  ejaculates,  "  Hier  ist  Ammergau ! " 
At  this  my  heart  gives  a  sudden  leap  ;  I  feel  the 
strangest  sensation  of  loneliness  take  possession  of 
me,  and  with  three  other  people  to  provide  for 
comfortably,  besides  myself,  I  almost  wish  I  had 
not  come.  My  only  hope  is  Xavier  !  At  a  halt 
back  on  the  road,  I  had  learned  somehow  that  he 
had  a  "  frau,"  but  "  keine  kindern,"  and  also  a  barn. 
I  made  him  understand  we  were  coming  here  quite 
unprepared,  and  would  he  let  us  sleep  on  his  hay, 
if  bad  came  to  worse  ?  (you  see  I  had  heard  of 
people  having  to  do  this). 

"  Jah  wohl,"  he  replied,  and  laughed  heartily. 

Somehow  he  braced  me  with  that  laugh,  little  as 
he  knew  it,  and  the  curious  look  in  his  eye,  which 
meant  he  thought  me  very  droll,  I  needed  no 
language  to  interpret  for  me. 

As  we  entered  the  town,  my  heart  actually  stood 
still  at  sight  of  the  many  people  before  me, 
although  according  to  promise  it  was  only  noon  on 
Saturday.  By  my  direction  he  went  to  the  Rath- 
haus,  at  the  door  of  which  I  was  told  the  Burgo- 
master was  at  dinner. 

Inquiring  the  way  to  his  house,  No.  151,  we 
went  thither.  Here  a  youth  met  me  at  the  door 
and  said  the  Burgomaster  would  be  at  the  Rath- 
haus  at  one  o'clock. 


OBERA  MMER  GAU.  211 

While  talking  with  him,  I  stepped  inside  the 
door.  The  hall  was  plain  as  an  American  wood- 
shed, and  in  one  corner  a  lot  of  truck  was  piled, 
giving  the  place  a  most  untidy  appearance.  As  I 
returned  to  the  carriage  I  was  in  despair  ;  we  could 
not  wait  forty  minutes,  besides  we  were  tired  and 
hungry. 

I  suggested  we  try  to  find  the  number  and  peo- 
ple with  which  two  Protestant  nuns  had  told  us 
they  stayed,  and  so  in  search  of  Frau  Winckler,  No. 
146,  we  drove  further  on,  Xavier  doing  his  best  to 
help  us.  The  streets  ran  in  every  direction  ;  in  fact, 
there  were  no  streets,  but  dividing  lines,  the  peo- 
ple being  found  by  the  number  of  their  houses, 
which  seemed  to  have  grown  up  out  of  the  ground 
in  other  people's  back  yards,  or  where  such  yards 
should  have  been.  Between  the  houses,  on  one 
side  of  the  street  by  which  we  entered  the  town, 
and  our  road,  ran  the  Ammer,  and  from  time  to 
time  small  foot  bridges  crossed  it. 

Boston  streets  are  nowhere  for  intricacy,  in  com- 
parison to  the  maze  at  Ammergau,  and  I  would 
like  to  see  any  stranger  who  has  walked  its  streets 
and  not  been  puzzled  as  to  where  he  lived. 

Well  !  we  could  not  find  No.  146,  and  just  as  I  was 
in  despair  a  man  in  front  of  No.  165  said  he  had 
three  rooms  and  seven  unoccupied  beds.  His  house 
was  centrally  located,  and  I  entered  at  once.     In 


212  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

the  narrow  hall  a  pair  of  steps  were  put  up  against 
an  opening  above,  the  trap-door  of  which  was 
fastened  up.  I  clambered  up  these  and  found  one 
room  had  four  beds.  This  I  took  with  the  chance 
of  a  fourth  person  being  put  in,  and  the  single 
bedroom  for  my  brother  at  ten  marks  ($2.00)  a 
person.  This  paid  for  two  nights,  instead  of  one, 
the  rule  in  Ammergau  in  all  houses,  and  our  food 
was  to  be  bought  outside. 

The  host  spoke  French  after  a  German  style  of 
his  own,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  Xavier's  gibberish 
(dear  old  Xav,  as  we  called  him,  how  patient  he 
was),  and  our  host  was  most  attentive  throughout 
our  stay. 

I  now  returned  to  the  Rathhaus  alone.  At  the 
door  a  string  of  people  as  long  as  the  Moral  Law 
stood  in  line.  Working  my  way  by  degrees  to 
the  door,  I  heard  the  grim  custodian  ask  those  in 
front  of  me,  "  Haben  schrieben,"  to  which  they 
answered  briefly,  "Schrieben  haben."  So  when 
he  asked  me  the  same,  I  was  prepared.  Those  who 
said  they  had  not,  or  had  intended  to,  or  had  no 
time  before,  or  any  other  excuse,  I  noticed  were 
turned  away,  for  the  old  guard  seemed  a  veritable 
St.  Peter. 

Once  in,  the  wait  on  the  stairs  was  most 
tedious.  People  of  all  nationalities  were  there, 
and  yet  at  the  door  above,  the  two  guardians  in 


OBERA  MMER  GAU.  213 

blue  coats  and  brass  buttons  only  admitted  two  at 
a  time.  I  looked  about  for  the  rush,  crush  and 
mad  scramble  I  had  seen  so  much  written  about, 
and  had  been  told  of  and  warned  against,  and  yet 
all  was  law  and  order  to  a  tiresome  degree. 

I  was  in  a  high-wrought  state  when  I  was  at 
last  admitted  into  the  sacred  precinct,  with  a  puffy, 
red-faced  Englishman.  This  room  evidently  ex- 
tended the  entire  length  of  the  building  and  had 
at  least  six  large  windows  in  it.  Opposite  me  was 
a  fire-place  and  in  the  farther  left-hand  corner  of 
the  room,  behind  a  railing,  sat  three  young  men, 
all  with  gentle  faces  and  long  hair.  As  I  ap- 
proached I  thought  what  if  my  name  should  not 
be  in  their  sacred  book  !  The  handsomest  of  the 
three  addressed  me  in  German,  and  to  my  inquiry, 
"Do  you  speak  English?'"  replied,  "  A  leetle."  I 
was  then  asked  my  name,  and  said  I  had  "tele- 
graphed once  and  written  twice."  He  opened  the 
book,  ran  his  finger  down  the  page,  and  almost 
before  he  came  to  it  I  saw  what  I  expected, 
"  Schelden,  G.  C. — 4  billeten — Schreiben  und  tele- 
graphen." 

He  next  asked,  "  Do  you  wanted  rooms  ?" 

I  replied,  "  No,  thank  you,  I  have  found  them 
for  myself." 

"  Where  ?  "  he  replied. 

This  question  I  could  not  answer,  as  the  number 


214  AS    WE    SAIV  IT  IN  '90. 

had  gone  entirely  from  my  mind,  so,  in  the  best 
German  I  could  muster,  I  described  "  our  land- 
lord "  as  "  klein  schone  speaking  Franzosisch,  mit 
ein  schnurrbart." 

This  description  pleased  them  very  much,  but 
think  as  they  would,  they  could  not  place  him,  so 
they  told  me  to  return  and  ask  him  for  tickets  for 
our  party  which  he  ought  to  have.  When  I  left 
that  room  I  think  I  felt  something  as  a  young 
law-student  must,  after  passing  his  exams  for 
admittance  to  the  bar. 

Once   more  out   in    the   streets,   I,  by  degrees, 

found  "our  house,"  and  then  Herr  ,  to  be 

told  he  only  had  "three  tickets." 

This  meant  another  visit  to  the  Rathhaus,  which 
I  dreaded,  but  I  returned  there  at  once,  and  with 
a  confidential  nod  to  St.  Peter,  who  remembered 
me,  and  the  two  guardians  above,  I  walked  in  past 
the  long  line  of  waiting  people.  In  a  moment — I 
having  learned  the  number  this  time — the  three 
youths  gave  me  my  fourth  ticket,  and  with  the 
hope  that  to-morrow  would  be  "  schones  wetter," 
I  left  them  forever. 

About  the  door  were  some  of  the  prettiest 
and  most  healthy  little  lads  I  ever  saw.  All  of 
them  had  long  hair,  some  of  them  being  as  yellow 
as  flax.     These  were  employed  to  take  people  to 


OB  ERA  MM  ERG  A  U.  215 

assigned  lodgings,  but  of  course  I  had  no  need  of 
them. 

In  fact  all  the  men  in  the  village  wore  long  hair 
with  the  exception  of  St.  Peter,  St.  Andrew 
and  Judas,  and  it  gave  them  an  oriental  and 
peculiar  air,  as  uncommon  as  was  their  town  and 
themselves. 

After  a  hearty  dinner  in  the  tap-room  of  the 
\Yittelsbacher  (we  thought  the  first  part  of  the 
hotel's  name  very  appropriate)  we  took  a  nap,  and 
by  four  o'clock  were  ready  to  investigate  the 
village. 

This  was  a  treat,  and  possibly  never  again  shall 
I  encounter,  in  so  small  a  space,  people  of  so 
many  nationalities. 

It  was  like  "putting  a  girdle  round  the  world," 
and  with  the  load  of  uncertainty  regarding  rooms 
and  tickets  rolled  off  my  shoulders,  I  entered  fully 
into  everything. 

The  shops  were  full  of  carving,  and  for  a  reason- 
able price  I  thought,  but  when  I  wanted  rubbers, 
they  showed  me  some  gun-boats,  seven,  eight  and 
nine,  in  size,  and  asked  seven,  eight  and  nine 
marks  for  them  —  a  mark  being  equal  to  our 
twenty-five  cents. 

The  sun  was  out,  and  by  its  aid  the  streets  were 
dry — and  all  hearts  lighter. 


216  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

We  went  through  the  town  to  see  where  Cook's 
office  was.  Here  was  a  man,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand,  besieged  by  women  and  young  girls,  whose 
questions  he  was  answering  very  shortly,  and  as  if 
by  the  greatest  condescension. 

I  was  thankful  I  was  not  a  "Cookie" — and  my 
thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  very  tired  voice 
exclaiming,  "  Oh,  dear  !  I  do  wish  I  knew  where  to 
get  something  to  eat.  That  horrid  man  won't 
answer  our  questions  at  all !  " 

I  looked  about  and  saw  it  was  a  compatriot 
with  two  other  young  girls  of  her  age. 

"Are  you  alone?"  I  asked. 

"  No ;    but  our  chaperon,   Miss   L ,  don't 

speak  German  or  French,  and  while  we  have 
Cook's  tickets,  we  can't  get  a  bit  of  attention  from 
that  agent." 

"  Come  with  me,  we  are  returning  past  the 
Wittelsbacher,  and  will  show  you  where  it  is,"  I 
answered. 

So  we  went  on  our  way,  leaving  the  agent  in 
conversation  with  a  callow  American  youth,  who 
was  explaining  how  long  ago  he  had  engaged 
rooms  and  tickets,  and  how  dissatisfied  he  was 
with  what  had  been  given  him. 

At  the  hotel  I  entered  and  ordered  for  the 
"  maidens  all  forlorn  "  a  good  tea,  and  never  shall 
I    forget    the    bright    look    that    even    the   bare 


ORERA  MM  ERG  A  U.  217 

prospect  of  food  brought  out  upon  their  woe- 
begone faces. 

By  this  time  it  was  six  o'clock,  so,  we  went 
up  to  the  outside  balcony  of  a  hotel,  near  the 
street  leading  to  the  theater,  to  see  the  band 
march  thither.  I  had  been  told  by  some  one,  that 
all  the  actors  marched  with  it ;  but,  like  every 
other  thing  I  had  heard  before  coming  here,  this 
was  not  so.  Only  the  band — preceded  by  police- 
men— went  by,  playing  a  lively  air  quite  unfamiliar 
to  me. 

Then  I  visited  the  church  which  has  a  most 
bizarre  interior,  as  I  did  not  expect  to  attend  early 
mass  the  next  morning,  and  after  tea,  at  which  we 
encountered  some  Buffalo  friends,  and  made  a  new 
acquaintance  in  an  English  lady,  we  returned  to 
our  home. 

Again  we  climb  up  the  ladder.  And  now  I  must 
describe  our  room  before  I  sleep. 

Years  ago,  in  1880,  Augustus  Hoppin  illustrated 
his  bedroom  in  Mayr's  house,  in  his  "  Ups  and 
Downs  by  Land  and  Water."  The  beds  here  I 
found  just  as  short  as  he  drew  them,  but  being 
only  four  feet  eleven  I  had  no  cause  of  com- 
plaint. 

Our  room,  as  I  said,  contained  four  beds,  and  the 
odd  one  was  occupied  by  a  woman  fast  asleep. 
Through   the  middle  of  the  room  was  a  curtain, 


2i8  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

quite  dividing  one  part  from  the  other,  and  in 
each  corner  was  a  bed.  There  were  three 
windows,  and  two  wash-stands,  with  plain  white 
bowls,  pitchers,  soap-dishes  and  soap,  glasses 
filled  with  drinking  water  and  plenty  of  towels  for 
four,  although  they  were  not  large. 

The  head  of  my  bed  was  at  one  window  and  by 
its  foot  was  another.  The  sheets  were  linen  and 
white  as  snow,  the  pillow-cases  being  trimmed  and 
inserted  with  lace,  and,  of  course,  upon  each  bed 
was  the  inevitable  feather  coverlet,  which  none 
but  a  native  can  keep  over  him  all  night. 

I  can  go  to  bed  with  it,  spread  over  me  as 
evenly  as  sod  on  a  grave,  but  in  the  morning  a 
resurrection  seems  to  have  taken  place,  for  it 
always  lies  upon  the  floor. 

One  by  one  the  lights  were  extinguished  in  the 
houses,  and  by  nine  o'clock  quiet  reigned.  The 
quiet  is  fairly  solemn,  as  if  in  silent  prayer  the 
world  of  Oberammergau  was  preparing  and 
strengthening  itself  against  the  morrow. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY. 
Oberammergau,  1890. 

Sunday,  August  31st,  dawned  clear  and  bright. 
I  was  awakened  at  5.15  from  a  dream  of  being  at 
home,  and  that  it  was  Fourth  of  July.  Some  fire- 
crackers had  been  set  off  under  my  bed,  and  in 
my  effort  to  jump  up,  I  discovered  my  mistake. 
The  booming  cannons  of  Oberammergau  are  the 
crackers,  and  I  realize  that  the  Mystery  Play  of 
1890  is  announced.  From  my  bed,  I  can  see 
in  two  directions  without  moving,  and  notice  in 
response  to  this  early  cannonading,  the  sun  at 
once  begins  to  tint  the  sky. 

This  is  not  a  good  sign  for  fair  weather,  but 
croaking  does  not  mend  matters,  and  I  silently 
hope  for  the  best.  Then  at  the  second  cannon, 
5.30,  priests,  with  and  without  skirts,  hurry  church- 
ward for  early  mass,  but  only  a  few  villagers 
appear  to  follow  in  their  footsteps.  Those  that  do 
pass  my  windows,  returning  later  with  what  is  called 
"  ein  stxick  frrod,"  in  many  cases  as  long  as  they  are 
tall.  This  they  carry  unconcernedly  under  their 
arms,  two  small  boys  using  theirs  to  bat  each 
other. 


220  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

At  six  o'clock  the  bells  begin  to  chime,  and 
cannons  boom  every  two  minutes,  during  which  the 
band  of  the  previous  evening  goes  toward  the 
theater,  playing,  as  previously,  a  gay  and  martial 
air.  There  seemed  in  this  a  lack  of  good  taste,  as 
some  solemn  dirge  would  have  been  more  in  tone 
with  the  occasion.  The  musicians  are  preceded 
by  village  policemen,  who  wear  brass  helmets. 

As  the  music  ceases,  all  is  silent,  and  this  pre- 
liminary excitement  having  subsided,  a  patriotic 
American  cannot  but  compare  his  sensations  to 
those  experienced  upon  a  Fourth  of  July  at  home. 
The  pedestrians  that  now  flock  through  the  streets 
are  an  unconscious  fund  of  amusement.  I  would 
rather  watch  them  than  sleep.  So  bracing  myself 
into  a  comfortable  attitude,  where  I  can  command 
both  windows,  I  report  to  my  less  fortunately 
situated  friends  the  facts  in  the  case. 

"That  old  priest  is  in  the  house  next  to  ours  !  " 
I  exclaim.  "  Yes,  'tis  the  same  one,  and  here 
comes  his  artist  friend  in  the  very  same  Tyrol- 
ean costume  he  had  on  yesterday  in  the  Parten- 
kirchen  inn.  I  wonder  why  he  carries  his  knapsack 
everywhere !  Do  you  suppose  he  will  take  it 
to  the  play  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  not,  when  he  carries  it  to 
mass  !  "  they  reply. 

"  I  do  wish  you  could  see  this  old  man  coming  !  " 


THE  PASSION  PLAY.  221 

I  exclaim.  "  He  is  a  living  picture  of  Christian 
in  '  The  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  His  green  bag,  or 
knapsack,  nearly  bends  his  toil-worn  frame  to 
the  ground.  He  has  just  arrived,  I  do  believe, 
and  no  doubt  is  from  Unterammergau,  or  some 
neighboring  town." 

By  this  time  the  villagers  are  all  astir. 

The  bakers'  boys  wheel  straw  wagons  full  of 
bread  one  way,  and  return  with  them  empty,  their 
Sunday  suits  showing  signs  of  their  trade. 

Beautiful  cattle  wander  peacefully  toward  the 
pastures,  their  tinkling  bells  chiming  mountain 
melodies  in  tune  to  their  deliberate  gait. 

Towards  the  east  I  look  again  and  see  that  the 
sun  gilds  the  front  of  Burgomaster  Lang's  house, 
one  of  the  largest  in  the  village.  The  front  is  cov- 
ered with  saintly  frescoes  and  festoons  of  flowers, 
and  now  the  board  blinds  are  thrown  back  from 
the  windows,  and  this  fact  should  declare  the  day 
fully  arisen.  Behind  this  house,  the  Kofel,  a  green 
hill,  stands  boldly  out,  and  on  its  top  is  a  cross 
that  indicates  the  pious  villagers  have  climbed 
the  requisite  two  thousand  feet  to  place  it  there. 

I  call  this  a  hill,  as  I  see  the  towering  "  Zug- 
spitze,"  five  times  its  height,  and  "  Wetterstein," 
nearly  three  times  as  tall,  with  their  heads  in  the 
morning  mist. 


222  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

At  6.30  the  sun  is  really  up,  and,  as  he  beams 
upon  the  town,  I  am  sure  all  holders  of  five-mark 
tickets  are  full  of  thankfulness,  for  these  seat  one 
in  the  open  air. 

I  muse  upon  the  state  of  affairs  in  Ammergau, 
everything  being  so  different  from  what  has  been 
reported  to  me,  and  then  indulge  in  a  short  nap 
until  seven  o'clock. 

When  I  awoke  our  fourth  companion  had  gone, 
and  this  was  all  I  ever  knew  of  her. 

After  coffee,  bread  and  marmalade  at  a  neigh- 
boring cafe,  we  are  ready  to  start  for  the  play.  It 
has  suddenly  clouded,  is  cold,  and  a  slight  rain 
causes  umbrellas  of  all  kinds  and  colors  to  be  pro- 
duced. This  we  discover  is  a  cloud  come  down 
upon  us,  when  we  get  out  of  the  town,  winding 
our  way  theaterwards,  between  rows  of  temporary 
booths,  erected  for  the  sale  of  photographs, 
librettos  and  food  of   a  very  plain  type. 

The  owners  are  alert  and  ready  to  sell  ;  and 
this  phase  of  the  surroundings  I  did  not  endorse. 
However,  I  doubt  if  they  were  villagers  proper, 
since  those  all  had  their  regular  shops  and  seemed 
home-keeping  people.  At  all  fetes  and  grand 
church  celebrations  in  France  and  Italy,  the  peo- 
ple carry  on  business  as  we  do  at  a  county  fair. 
Why,  therefore,  should  much-criticized  Ammergau 


THE   PASSION  PLAY.  223 

be   an  exception    to   the    rule  on    the    continent  ? 
Our  tickets  read  : 


<£tntrttts-Karte  N?.  158 
'passions  "^SorsteUumj 

in 

(Dberammergau        ->-Jv 

I  3L0Bni^rat? :  5  JW—  pf. 


At  the  entrance  to  the  theater  we  go  up  some 
rude  board  steps,  and  are  at  the  entrance  door. 

A  vast  audience  is  already  seated.  The  ushers 
tear  our  pasteboard  ticket,  leaving  us  the  check,  as 
in  American  theaters,  and  quickly  show  us  our 
seat.  Again  we  are  surprised  at  the  quiet  and 
systematic  arrangements  for  seating  over  five 
thousand  people,  and  sit  down  in  our  special  seat 
as  if  in  a  dream. 

Is  this  really  the  Passion  Play  we  are  about  to 
witness  ?  and  how  shall  we  be  impressed  ?  are, 
doubtless,  the  questions  each  person  present  has 
asked  himself.     Let  me  give  you  my  experience. 

The  libretto  I  had  decided  the  most  convenient, 
was  one  bound  in  green,  that  had.  reached  its  fifth 
edition,  as  the  title-page  announced,  published  in 
Munich,    1890,   by    Frederich    Adolf   Ackermann. 


224  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

Its  first  page  was  illustrated  by  a  half-tone  cut  of 
Christ  knocking  at  the  door,  by  Prof.  H.  Hoffman, 
and  inside  the  cover  the  play  and  players  were 
named,  as  follows  : 

The  Great  Sacrifice 


REDEMPTION    ON     GOLGOTHA 

or  the  History  of  the  suffering  and  death 

of   our  Lord   Jesus   Christ  according  to  the  four  Gospels. 
Wilh  tableaux,  representing  scenes  of  the  Old  Testament. 


PERSONS. 


Christ Josef  Mayr. 

John Peter  Rendl. 

Peter Jacob  Hett. 

Judas Johann  Zwink. 

Virgin  Mary Rosa  Lang. 

Mary  Magdalen Amalie  Deschler. 

Martha Helena  Lang. 

Jos.  of  Arimathea M.  Oppenrieder. 

Nikodemus Frz.  Steinbacher. 

Caiaphas Burgerm.  Lang. 

Annas Franz  Rutz  sen. 

Nathaniel Seb.  Lang  jun. 

Rabbi Seb.  Bauer. 

Pilate Thomas  Rendl. 

Herod Johann  Diemer. 

Sim.  of  Bethany Gregor  Lechner. 

Simon  Cyrenian Michael  Bauer. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY.  225 

Salome Anna  Hager. 

Hagar Mar.  Wiedemann. 

Sara Maria  Haser. 

Veronika Elsie  Zunterer. 

Dathan Anton  Meier. 

Selpha        Alois  Meier. 

Ezekiel Rochus  Lang. 

Faustus Martin  Liebher. 

Ahasuerus Gilbert  Rutz. 

Servant  of  Pilate Josef  Bierling. 

Barabas Joh.  Oswald. 

I  Malefactor Anton  Lang. 

II  Malefactor Eduard  Bierling. 

Angel Rosa  Zwink. 

Andrew,  Thomas,  Both  Jacobs,  Philipp,  —  Thaddeus, 
Simon  and  the  other  Deciples, — Malchus. 

Priests, —  Pharisees, —  Courtiers, —  Captains, —  Soldiers, — 
Leaders,  —  Lictors,  —  Executioners,  —  Writers,  —  People, — 
Children, — Crowd.  — 

Leading  of  the  play  :  Biirgermeister  Lang.  Leading  of 
the  tableaux  :  Zeichenlehrer  Lang.  Leading  of  the  music  : 
Lehrer  Gruber.     Choragus  :  Jakob  Rutz. 

Sopran. — Josepha  Breitsammter,  Ludovica  Gindhart,  Anna 
Korntheuer,  Luzie  Lang,  Aloisia  Mayr,  Regina  Wolf, 
Maria  Samm. 

Alt.  —  Antonia  Albl,  Crescenz  Bierling,  Johanna  Keller, 
Crescenz  K lamer,  Magdalena  K6pf,  Marie  Lutz,  Josepha 
Steidle. 

Tenor.  —  Otto  Anderl,  Korbinian  Christa,  Alois  Lang, 
Anton  Lechner,  Dominikus  Schilcher. 

Bass. — Joseph  Gabler,  Anton  Lutz,  Otto  Mangold,  Kor- 
binian Rutz. 


226  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '9G. 

Next  to  the  title-page  came  a  few  reprinted 
letters  of  introduction,  and  then  a  cut  of  the  thea- 
ter, with  description.  I  give  it  verbatim  without 
comment : 

The  Oberammei  gau  Theater, 

with  numbered    folding-seats,   gives  room  enough  for  4000 
spectators. 

Seats:  I.  II.      III.     IV.       V.      VI.    j    I.  II.  III. 

Admission:     Marks    10. — ,    8. — ,    6. — ,    5. — ,    3. — ,    1. —    (are  roofed. 

— There  are  2  separate  rooms  for  princes  giving  16  seats. 

— Performance  from  8 — 4)^. 

— Pouse  to  take  a  lunch  :   11^ — 1. 

— Do  not  forget  an  opera  glas  ! 

Beds  :  The  village  has  2500  beds,  a  2 — 3  Marks,  the  better 
ones  4 — 5  Mark. 

Every  Privathouse  gives  boarding  and  every 
house  of  accommodation  gets  so  many  tickets  as 
it  has  beds. 

During  the  last  ten  years,  there  have  been  built  16  new 
privathouses  and  a  pretty  handsome  Villa  of  Madame  Wil- 
helmine  Hillern,  writer  of  some  good  german  novels,  further 
an  excellent  school  for  woodcarvers  and  a  large  hospital. 

Oberammergau  may  be  reached  from  three  quarters 
(Railway  prospectus,  Cabs  and  Carriage  see  inside  of  the 
binding). 

After  this,  comes  several  views  of  Ammergau, 
Partenkirchen,  Oberau  and  Ettal,  with  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  play  from  its  inception  in  the  middle 
ages. 


THE  PASSION   PLAY.  227 

This  is  a  more  than  many-times-told  tale,  yet 
for  the  benefit  of  my  readers  I  will  give  a  hasty 
synopsis  : 

Christianity  is  the  cause  of  the  Passion  Play, 
which  statement  may  surprise  many  and  induce 
others  to  see  it,  if  it  is  given  in  1900,  as  I  believe 
will  be  the  case. 

In  Pagan  days  all  races  loved  the  stage  and  its 
allurements,  and  when  many  years  after  Christ 
came  and  gave  Himself  as  the  lamb  for  the  great 
Sacrifice  of  Redemption,  a  reformation  swept 
through  the  land,  people  were  still  desirous  of 
being  amused,  but  in  a  manner  fitted  to  their 
changed  condition  and  religious  ardor.  Along 
with  churchmen  and  artists  who  worked  to  beau- 
tify churches  and  all  that  pertained  to  them, 
with  fine  stained  glass,  illuminated  missals  and 
unique  architecture  in  Those  days — works  which 
will  never  perish  while  Christianity  exists — lived 
men  who  wrote  sacred  plays.  These  Mysteries 
were  beloved  of  the  people,  and  since  churchmen 
not  only  gave  them  their  blessing,  but  were  their 
authors,  no  wonder  they  grew  in  favor. 

When  the  whitewash  period  came,  as  antithesis 
of  all  the  luxury  and  indulgence  that  had  pre- 
ceded it,  and  the  Reformation  had  torn  from  the 
Church  some  of  its  staunchest  supporters,  such 
plays  were   frowned  on  along  with  the  luxury  in 


228  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN   '90. 

which  the  Church  had  indulged  its  votaries.  But 
in  many  by-paths  and  mountain  recesses  these 
plays,  unnoticed,  still  flourished  and  one  of  them, 
Oberammergau,  shows  to-day  a  record  unparalleled 
by  any  other  village  of  its  size  in  the  world. 

Only  once,  that  during  the  Thirty  Year's  War, 
had  their  desire  to  discontinue  the  representation 
of  some  one  or  other  of  the  many  religious  plays 
been  manifested.  Then,  to  their  peculiar  minds 
were  they  severely  reprimanded,  for  a  plague 
came  into  their  midst,  as  if  to  remind  them  of  their 
sluggishness.  So  evident  was  this  reproof,  that  a 
vow,  kept  sacredly  to  date,  was  made  to  continue 
these  plays  should  the  plague  subside.  With  its 
subsidence,  every  decade  the  Passion  Spiel  has 
been  given,  and  only  once  has  it  been  interrupted, 
viz.,  during  the  Franco-Prussian  War. 

After  this  explanation,  can  anyone  imagine  that 
four  centuries  of  continued  activity  on  this  plan 
could  help  but  make  Oberammergau  unique  ? 

As  birds  fly,  as  even  the  tiniest  rootlet  of  the 
crocus  that  empurples  their  fields  is  indigenous, 
as  the  Ammer,  impelled  by  an  unknown  but  irre- 
sistible force,  wends  its  way  in  liquid  purity  through 
their  town,  so  naturally  do  the  peasants  of  Ober- 
ammergau perform  this  Passion  Play.  Do  not  for 
a  moment  imagine  this  is  all  they  do.  I  am  told 
that   never  a   year,    and    scarcely   three    months, 


THE   PASSION  PLAY.  229 

passes,  without  some  play  being  given,  for  which 
they  are  in  active  preparation. 

Despite  this,  they  live  even  lives,  working  day 
by  day  at  their  trade  at  wood-carving,  and  from 
the  time  the  first  villager  is  seen  until  we  leave,  it 
is  impossible  to  obtain  evidences  of  any  dissipation 
among  them.  Knowing  this,  it  seems  but  natural 
that  they  should  be  able  to  act  out  the  lives  of  just 
such  humble  men  and  women  as  themselves,  for  if 
the  "  sins  of  the  forefathers  are  visited  upon  the 
children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generations," 
in  same  proportion  must  goodness  and  talent  be 
hereditary,  and  hence  this  absolutely  unique  race 
of  Bavarian  peasants. 

The  entire  village  participates,  five  and  six  hun- 
dred persons,  from  children  to  old  men  and  women, 
fill  the  stage  in  the  tableaux,  and  during  the  play, 
and  when  all  is  over,  it  is  impossible  for  one  to 
realize  that  a  play  and  not  a  reality  has  been  wit- 
nessed. From  the  "entry  into  Jerusalem"  to  the 
ascension  this  marvellous  spectacle  is  enacted  with- 
out a  flaw.  Time  is  annihilated,  identity  is  for- 
gotten, and  as  if  actually  living  in  a.  d.  31,  you 
glory  in,  believe  in,  and  suffer  with  the  Christ. 

Hence  the  absurdity  of  crying  out  against  it,  of 
calling  it  anything  but  very  sacred,  of  pretending 
for  a  moment  it  is  not  purely  religious  and  a  help, 
even  for  the  most  rigid  Protestant. 


230  A  S    WE    SA  IV  IT  IN  '90. 

The  play  in  its  present  form  owes  its  purity  and 
rhythm  to  a  former  priest  of  the  village  named 
Daisenberger.  He  really  transformed  the  play, 
accentuating  the  part  of  the  Christus  and  remov- 
ing the  devil  from  it  altogether,  the  fact  that  there 
was  a  Judas  being  to  his  mind  enough  evidence 
that  his  Satanic  majesty  was  still  rampant. 

Half  a  century  ago  this  young  and  cultured 
priest  saw  the  necessity  of  broadening  the  play  for 
the  times.  From  the  churchyard,  the  scene  of 
action  was  removed  to  the  edge  of  the  town,  and 
such  innovations  as  the  stage,  the  chorus  and 
many  other  details  added. 

These  prefatory  notes  I  gained  hints  of  while 
waiting,  in  almost  feverish  impatience  for  the  cur- 
tain to  rise.  At  eight  o'clock  exactly  solemn  music 
breaks  the  silence.  This  comes  from  an  unseen 
orchestra,  and  then  the  chorus  of  twenty-four,  half 
men  and  half  women,  issues  from  both  sides  of  the 
stage,  out  of  Doric  colonnades.  As  they  meet  in 
the  middle  of  the  stage,  the  leader  announces  that 
the  sacred  play  is  about  to  begin. 

In  a  glance  you  notice  all  are  in  the  costume  of 
the  Greek  chorus,  consisting  of  white  tunics,  edged 
with  gold  embroidery,  and  about  them  are  thrown 
colored  mantles,  which  assist  to  make  a  brilliant 
and  yet  harmonious  picture.  Upon  their  heads 
are  golden  crowns,  and   upon   their  feet  sandals. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY.  231 

The  women's  faces  are  peaceful  rather  than  beau- 
tiful. Many  of  the  men  are  very  handsome,  all 
with  their  long  hair  and  bronzed,  health-colored 
faces,  make  a  favorable  impression. 

As  they  sing  in  steady,  homespun  voices  the 
touching  prologue,  you  gaze  upon  the  scene  in 
undisguised  admiration.  Directly  over  the  center 
portion  of  the  stage  in  the  tympanum  is  the  repre- 
sentation of  Christ  enthroned,  surrounded  by  an 
adoring  multitude  The  curtain  has  three  prophets 
upon  it — Isaiah  and  Jeremiah  at  the  sides  and  in 
the  center,  Moses. 

As  the  first  tableau  is  given,  this  curtain  is 
rolled  up,  and  only  descends  between  the  eighteen 
representations,  the  scene  curtain,  being  divided 
in  the  center.  The  upper  part  of  this  has  an  open 
Bible  upon  it,  the  lower,  ten  anciently  clad  figures, 
indicative  of  the  Decalogue. 

As  the  first  tableau  is  given,  the  chorus  grace- 
fully divide,  the  twelve  men  going  to  one  side  of 
the  stage,  the  twelve  women  to  the  other.  This 
represents  Adam  and  Eve  being  driven  from  Eden, 
and  but  for  the  browned  hand  and  wrist  of  the  angel, 
you  would  hardly  believe  they  were  alive.  As  you 
gaze  upon  this  scene,  the  chorus  continue  their 
explanatory  chant,  and  as  the  curtain  closes, 
they  prepare  you  for  the  next,  which  is  of  a 
cross    about    which    cling    thirteen    children,    in 


232  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

prayer.  The  chorus  kneel  in  adoration,  and  a 
chorus  of  children's  voices  sing  :  "  Eternal  One  ! 
O  hear  the  stammering  of  Thy  children  !  *'  etc., 
until  the  end. 

The  chorus  now  quietly  slip  back  again  in  to 
the  porticoes,  and  all  eyes  are  fastened  upon  the 
stage  for  the  entrance  of  the  Christus. 

A  distant  murmur,  as  of  an  approaching  multi- 
tude, is  heard,  then  it  comes  nearer,  you  hear  the 
cry  of  Hosanna  !  Hosanna!  and  as  the  curtain  rises, 
people  fill  the  stage,  exactly  as  they  should  under 
the  circumstances,  waving  palm  branches,  and 
strewing  them  upon  the  road.  Now,  the  whole  of 
the  middle  stage  can  be  seen,  and  for  its  back- 
ground, real  hills  and  sky  tend  to  remove  the  idea 
that  it  is  a  stage  at  all.  On  either  side  extend 
streets  beneath  high  walls,  from  whose  summit 
grow  palms.  These  wave  inarticulately  in  the  air, 
and  this  one  thing  ( in  my  mind )  added  greatly 
to  the  scene. 

All  eyes  are  now  strained  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  Christus,  and  finally  he  comes,  sitting  sideway 
on  an  ass,  clad  in  a  mauve  garment,  with  a  seam- 
less cloak  of  magenta  about  him. 

The  people  break  forth  into  a  song  of  the  most 
impromptu  type  as  he  advances,  saying:  "All 
hail  !  all  hail  !  O  David's  son."  You  notice  his 
companions   are    poorly  dressed,   and   carry  long 


THE  PASSION  PLAY.  233 

staffs,  to  help  them  on  their  journey.  The  crowd 
surge,  move,  go  in  and  out  from  the  middle  stage 
to  the  streets,  and  then  on  to  the  very  front  of 
the  stage,  many  of  them  exchanging  satisfied 
glances  with  their  kindred  and  friends,  at  the 
coming  of  Christ. 

As  the  chorus  ceases,  priests  and  scribes  enter 
from  one  of  the  side  streets,  gesticulating  and 
talking  earnestly  among  themselves  at  such  an 
ovation  expended  upon  this  poor,  unknown,  and 
to  them,  audacious  Galilean. 

They  are  richly  dressed,  visibly  puffed  up  with 
pride  and  anger,  and  much  worried  withal,  as  to 
the  outcome  of  this  demonstration. 

Now  comes  the  supreme  moment  !  Christ, 
having  quietly  left  the  ass,  comes  out  on  to  the 
stage  by  one  of  the  streets,  and  you  wait  in 
impatience  for  him  to  speak.  His  face  you  cannot 
criticise,  except  that  you  would  have  Mayr  ten 
years  younger,  and  when  he  says,  "What  do  I  see  ? 
The  house  of  my  father  dishonored  in  such  a 
way  !  "  your  attention  is  directed  to  the  center  of 
the  stage,  which,  quite  unnoticed  by  you,  has  been 
transformed  into  the  portico  of  the  temple  at 
Jerusalem.  People  engaged  in  trade  are  oblivious 
of  Christ's  presence,  until  he  bursts  forth  in  angry 
remonstrance,  turning  over  the  money  tables  and 
freeing  the  doves. 


234  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

These  fly  directly  over  our  heads  towards  the 
village,  and,  with  their  disappearance,  Christ 
calms  himself,  and  never  again  do  we  hear  him 
remonstrate,  except  in  gentlest  tones.  Yes,  Mayr's 
voice  was  most  liquid  and  sweet,  and  my  only 
regret,  as  a  Protestant,  was,  that  he  did  not  follow 
the  familiar  texts  of  our  gospels,  instead  of  using 
a  version  of  it. 

This  act  of  the  Christus  causes  a  tumult  among 
the  reproved  people,  and  the  clever  priests  and 
wily  members  of  the  Sanhedrim  catch  at  their 
anger,  and  urge  them  to  attack  this  audacious 
man.  He  prophesying  to  them  about  the  down- 
fall of  Jerusalem,  enters  the  Temple. 

The  third  scene  shows  us  Caiaphas,  Annas 
and  Nathaniel,  the  foremost  of  the  Sanhedrim, 
in  consultation.  All  of  these  men  are  very  won- 
derful. Each  has  a  grand  voice,  and  their  dia- 
logue is  more  natural  and  impetuous  than  I  can 
ever  describe  to  you. 

They  are  interrupted  in  the  fourth  scene  by  the 
irate  merchants,  who  urge  them  to  present  their 
complaint  before  the  Sanhedrim.  Like  drowning 
men,  they  catch  at  this  straw  of  comfort,  viz. : 
the  righteous  indignation  of  Christ. 

As  the  big  curtain  falls,  I  find  one  hour  has 
flown  during  this,  the  first  representation  or  act. 

A     sigh     goes    through    the    audience,    which 


THE  PASSION  PLAY.  235 

increases  to  a  murmur,  not  so  loud  but  that  the 
twitter  of  happy  birds,  flying  in  and  out  of  the 
Gedeck,  seems  almost  a  disturbance. 

Yes,  without  doubt,  the  audience  is  en  rapport 
with  it,  and  too  much  praise  cannot  be  given  the 
entire  company,  that  so  ably  sustained  their  prom- 
ise during  the  summer  of  '90,  to  give  twenty-five 
regular,  and  as  many  more  extra,  performances  of 
this  great  drama. 

The  second  representation  had  four  scenes,  also. 

1st.     The  assembly  of  the  Sanhedrim. 

2d.  Caiaphas'  promise  to  them  to  annihilate 
the  impostor. 

3d.     The  interview  with  the  angry  merchants. 

4th.  The  Sanhedrim  congratulating  themselves 
that  victory  is  within  reach. 

This  consumes  probably  forty-five  minutes,  and 
every  dialogue  and  scene  is  replete  with  natural 
motion  and  interest. 

Annas — Franz  Rutz,  Sen. — is  already  a  friend  of 
ours,  and  we  have  his  Schneidermeister  card, 
giving  his  house  as  No.  52  ;  and  on  one  side  of  it 
the  announcement  that  Elise  Rutz  sells  candy, 
cake,  etc.,  at  the  same  number. 

The  murmur  that  follows  this  representation 
shows  unanimous  approval,  and  is  only  stilled  by 
the  chorus,  which  files  out  directly  the  curtain 
goes  down. 


236  AS    WE   SAW  IT   IN  '90. 

The  third  representation  was,  next  to  the  cruci- 
fixion, the  most  touching. 

The  first  tableau  is  of  Tobias  taking  leave  of 
his  mother.  For  two  minutes  the  figures  are  per- 
fectly posed  for  our  view,  the  only  motion  in  the 
picture  being  the  angel's  gown,  which  is  stirred  by 
the  wind. 

The  chorus  meanwhile  chant  a  farewell. 

The  second  tableau,  which  emphasizes  the  com- 
ing parting  of  Christ  from  his  mother,  is  of  the 
loving  bride  lamenting  over  her  absent  spouse, 
from  Solomon's  songs.  This  was  given  as  a  solo 
by  one  of  the  chorus  in  a  most  pathetic  voice,  and 
when  the  chorus  take  up  the  consolatory  reply  of 
the  daughters  of  Jerusalem,  the  melodious  ensem- 
ble cannot  fail  to  bring  tears  to  even  the  most 
stoical  eye. 

The  first  scene  gives  us  Christ  with  his  disciples 
for  the  first  time.  How  exactly  like  they  are 
to  what  we  have  always  fancied  them  !  Philip, 
no  longer  young,  with  gray  beard  ;  Andrew,  alert 
and  business-like  ;  Peter,  the  fisherman,  also  gray 
hair  and  short,  curling  beard  ;  John,  young,  gen- 
tle, and  always  near  Christ ;  Judas,  stalwart,  dark- 
haired  and  nervous  to  a  degree,  and  Simon,  a  dear 
old  man  one  loved  from  the  first. 

The  second  scene  is  near  Simon's  house.  Mary 
Magdelene    and    Martha    welcome   Christ    as    he 


THE  PASSION  PLA  Y.  237 

approaches.  Never  was  I  so  thrilled,  as  by  the 
Magdelene,  saying,  "  Rabbi  !  Rabbi  !  "  as  she 
pressed  toward  him.  Had  she  never  spoken  again 
her  mark  would  have  been  made. 

The  third  scene  is  in  Simon's  house.  The  table 
is  spread,  and  in  the  rear  three  open  windows  give 
views  of  natural  trees  and  hills.  Peter  beseeches 
Christ  to  remain  there.  His  every  motion  tells, 
and  he  is  clad  in  a  blue  gown  with  yellow  mantle. 
Here  the  Magdelene  enters,  and,  gliding  to  the 
feet  of  Christ,  annoints  his  feet  with  rare  oint- 
ment and  wipes  them  veritably  with  her  hair. 
Again  comes  her  "  Rabbi  !  Rabbi  !  "  which  goes  to 
your  very  soul. 

Judas  here  demonstrates  at  the  extravagance  of 
Magdelene's  a.ct,  and  is  only  silenced  when  Christ 
gently  reproves  him. 

In  the  fourth  scene  he  bids  them  farewell,  and 
in  the  fifth  scene  the  parting  from  his  mother 
would  break  even  a  heart  of  stone  !  This  occu- 
pies twenty  minutes  and  is  the  best  effort  of  Rosa 
Lang,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Burgomaster, 
who  is  Caiaphas.  She  is  much  too  young  for  her 
son  and  dresses  exactly  like  the  Carlo  Dolci 
Madonnas  ;  but  I  was  told  the  incongruity  was 
explained  by  the  fact  that  the  people  never  thought 
the  Virgin  Mother  ever  became  old,  and  so,  if 
they  were  satisfied,  we  should  be. 


238  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

The  fourth  representation  shows  us  Christ  on 
the  road  to  Jerusalem.  John  and  Peter  are  sent 
ahead  to  prepare  the  passover,  John  lovely  in  an 
apple-green  gown,  and  wine-red  mantle.  Judas 
demurs  about  going.  Dathan  and  his  compan- 
ions approach  him,  and  this  scene  where  Judas, 
being  tempted,  promises  Christ's  betrayal,  is  truly 
wonderful. 

The  final  and  sixth  scene  takes  twenty  minutes 
and  is  a  soliloquy  by  Judas. 

The  fifth  representation  began  at  10.20  o'clock. 
Huge  white  clouds  have  arisen  from  behind  the 
stage,  and  I  begin  to  fear  rain  is  coming. 

This  has  but  two  scenes,  and  is  preceded  by  two 
admirable  pictures  ;  in  the  second,  grapes  brought 
from  Canaan  foreshadow  the  Holy  Supper. 

To  this,  John  and  Peter,  having  gone  ahead  to 
prepare  it,  welcome  Christ  and  the  other  disciples. 

The  stage  setting  is  after  the  familiar  Da  Vinci 
in  Milan,  and  any  one  who  has  ever  communed 
in  memory  of  this  last  feast,  could  not  help  but 
appreciate  this  farewell  gift,  the  closest  bond, 
next  to  prayer,  between  Christ  and  his  followers. 

The  curtain  rises  upon  them  seated.  After  a 
short  conversation,  Christ  removes  his  mantle,  and 
girding  a  towel  about  him,  washes  one  foot  of 
each  disciple,  sometimes  the  right,  sometimes  the 
left,  going  from  one  to  the  other,  until  all  is  fin- 


THE   PASSION  PLAY.  239 

ished.  Beginning  with  Peter,  he  comes  to  John 
last.  Tis  all  done  with  gentle  deliberation.  Judas 
meanwhile  looks  pensive  and  unhappy. 

Then  comes  the  communion.  The  bread  is  the 
cinnamon  and  sugar-covered  coffee  bread  of  the 
Germans,  and  'tis  all  passed  with  a  quiet  com- 
posure most  wonderful  to  behold.  Then  the  sop 
is  given  Judas,  after  which  he  goes  out.  Christ 
bids  them  farewell,  Peter  avers  fidelity,  and  at  10.55 
this  scene  ends. 

The  sixth  representation  is  preceded  by  a  tableau 
of  Joseph  sold  into  Egypt,  and  one  other.  Joseph, 
a  regular  peasant  lad,  is  scantily  clad,  his  legs  are 
bare,  and  the  part  where  he  wears  his  Tyrolese 
stocking,  is  white,  in  contrast  to  the  tan  of  his 
knee  and  ankle. 

Here  again  we  have  the  Sanhedrim,  the  bargain 
for  Christ,  and  Judas's  avaricious  desire  for  the 
thirty  pieces  of  silver,  which  one  of  the  priests 
counts  out  with  tantalizing  slowness.  Nicodemus 
remonstrates  against  this  wicked  bargain,  and 
leaves  the  room. 

Caiaphas,  Annas  and  Nathaniel  are  in  gorgeous 
robes,  and  the  Pharisees  are  known  by  a  brass 
band  on  their  forehead,  such  as  a  dienstmann  wears 
at  all  railway  stations  on  his  left  arm  to  tell  his 
number.    This  ends  at  11.20  o'clock. 

The   seventh    representation    is    prefaced   by   a 


240  AS    WE    SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

tableau  of  Adam,  Eve  and  three  children,  naked 
but  for  lamb-skins  thrown  about  them. 

This  has  seven  scenes. 

First,  Judas  is  seen  guiding  the  guards  to  the 
Mount  of  Olives.  Second  and  third,  Christ  in  the 
garden  receives  the  bitter  cup  from  an  angel's 
hand  (wonderfully  let  down  by  invisible  wires). 
Fourth,  Judas  approaches  and  betrays  him. 

It  is  now  12  o'clock  exactly,  so  prompt  has  been 
each  change  in  scene  and  chorus,  and  we  have  one 
hour  and  a  half,  after  four  hours  of  breathless 
excitement,  in  which  to  refresh  ourselves. 

The  wind  had  come  up  since  morning,  but  the 
clouds  were  settling  nearer  and  nearer  us,  and  I 
felt  sure  that  before  we  were  through  rain  would 
come.  It  was  cold  beyond  expression.  I  sat  wrapped 
in  a  Roman  blanket,  and  the  audience  generally 
presented  an  incongruous  appearance.  But  they 
were  all  in  earnest  and  all  enthralled.  Luncheon 
being  over,  we  hasten  back.  I  am  early  enough  to 
watch  the  people  come  in,  for  I  want  to  see  the 
ex-Empress  Eugenie  who  has  the  left-hand  box. 
She  is  still  beautiful,  is  dressed  in  black,  and  her 
hair  is  quite  gray. 

Back  of  me,  just  under  the  Gedeck,  a  woman 
with  two  children  comes  in  laden  with  a  bag  of 
something.  Just  as  I  am  wondering  what  it  might 
contain,  the   bag   gives   away,   and    the    contents 


THE   PASSION   PLAY.  241 

(pears)  come  scampering,  helter-skelter,  down  the 
inclined  floor.  She  is  German,  and  takes  the 
occurrence  with  composure.  It  is  too  laughable 
to  see  her  receiving  her  runaway  goods  from  a 
score  of  men,  who  have  rescued  them  at  different 
stages  of  their  journey,  and,  stranger  still,  this 
incident  was  a  relief  after  all  the  strain  that  we 
had  just  passed  through,  and  every  witness  took 
the  occasion  to  exercise  the  risible  muscles  of 
his  face. 

The  eighth  representation  began  at  1.30  p.  if., 
sharp,  and  everybody  was  seated  promptly. 

From  now  on  the  scenery  is  more  varied.  Annas 
appears  at  the  door  of  his  house  to  the  right  of 
the  stage,  and  opposite  a  stir  seems  evident  in  the 
house  of  Pilate. 

In  the  fifth  scene,  Peter  and  John  come  on 
together,  and  form  a  picture  of  youth  and  age  ; 
they  demand  from  Annas  the  whereabouts  of  the 
Master. 

Before  the  ninth  representation,  we  have  a  tab- 
leau, where  Jezebel  is  accused  of  counterfeiting 
Ahab's  name,  and  where  Job's  wife  and  friends 
desire  him  to  curse  God. 

In  this7  Christ  is  pushed  through  the  multitude, 
which  is  rabid  for  his  blood,  on  to  Caiaphas'  house, 
who  desires  his  people  to  be  firm.  Judas,  seeing 
this,  begins   to  realize  the  harm  that    is   coming 


242  AS    IV E    SAW  IT  IN  '00. 

to  the  Master.  In  the  hall  of  Caiaphas,  Peter 
denies  Christ,  then  repents  bitterly,  which  bit  of 
acting  is  his  best,  and  the  last  scene  shows  us 
Christ  being  taunted  in  Caiaphas'  house  by  the 
soldiers. 

This  ends  at  2.25  p.  11. 

The  tenth  representation  is  opened  by  a  picture 
of  Cain,  the  type  of  Judas. 

The  second  scene  shows  Judas  before  the  San- 
hedrim, begging  for  a  knowledge  of  what  is  to 
befall  his  Master.  This  and  the  third  scene  are 
most  impressive,  the  priests  being  in  gorgeous  rai- 
ment. Then  as  Judas  goes  out  Christ  is  brought 
in  and  finally  led  away  amid  the  cry  of  "  Death  to 
the  Galilean  !'" 

Before  the  eleventh  representation,  the  picture 
shows  Daniel  in  the  lion's  den.  This  is  decidedly 
a  masterpiece. 

After  this  Jesus  is  brought  before  Pilate,  and 
finally  led  up  on  the  balcony.  Pilate  asks  him, 
■"What  is  truth?"  While  Pilate  is  wishing  he 
never  had  heard  of  this  man  he  would  like  to  free, 
the  Sanhedrim  approach  with  a  vast  crowd.  This 
scene  is  most  varied  and  well  conducted.  All  the 
by-play  is  perfect  and  natural.  The  last  scene  is 
Judas'  farewell.  His  remorse  is  intense  and  I 
would  I  had  space  to  quote  from  his  words. 

In  the  twelfth  representation  Christ   is  sent  to 


THE    PASSION  PLAY.  243 

Herod.  This  scene  was  the  only  tiresome  one  I 
witnessed.  Herod  might  have  been  better,  and, 
unfortunately,  you  know  in  advance  there  is  no 
reprieve  for  the  Son  of  God,  because  none  has 
been  demanded. 

Before  the  thirteenth  representation,  occurs  the 
tableau  of  Joseph's  coat  being  carried  to  his 
father.  The  chorus  and  solo  here  are  most  solemn, 
and  the  youth  I  had  seen  at  the  Rathhaus  about 
tickets  gave  the  solo.  The  music  was  good  and 
harmonious  throughout. 

Again  in  the  first  scene  is  Christ  brought  before 
Pilate,  this  time  by  the  Sanhedrim,  headed  by 
Caiaphas  and  a  vast  crowd,  who,  demanding  Bar- 
abbas,  cry,   "Crucify  him  !    Crucify  him  !  " 

I  realized  for  the  first  time  here  that  German 
was  spoken,  for  the  German,  "  kreuzigen,"  to  cru- 
cify, seemed  as  if  nothing  had  been  said,  whereas 
the  very  worse  had  come  to  pass. 

Before  the  fourteenth  representation,  Joseph  in 
Egypt  is  seen  to  be  honored  by  the  king,  and  car- 
ried on  shoulders  of  slaves,  two  darkey  lads  pro- 
tecting his  face  from  the  sun's  rays.  All  through 
this  part,  the  music  is  grand,  as  if  a  supreme  effort 
was  made. 

In  the  first  scene  Nathaniel  calls  on  the  people 
to  'throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  the  sacred 
Sanhedrim,  which  will  save  them,  and  they  go  en 


244  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

j/iasse  to  demand  the  sentence  of  Christ's  cruci- 
fixion from  Pilate.  He  begs  them  to  desist,  but 
they  are  decided  in  their  demands,  and,  after  wash- 
ing his  hands,  he  declares  that  he  pronounces  the 
sentence  at  the  express  wish  of  the  priests,  and, 
breaking  his  wand  of  office,  exclaims,  "  Now 
take  him  and  crucify  him  ! "  With  this,  Jesus  is 
hustled  off  to  Golgotha,  and — more's  the  pity — 
without  one  friend  in  sight. 

As  the  .fifteenth  representation  commences,  the 
rain  begins  to  fall,  but  everybody  is  too  absorbed 
to  mind  it. 

The  tableau  shows  Moses  lifting  up  the  serpent 
in  the  wilderness,  as  Christ  shall  be  lifted  up. 

Now  the  chorus  come  out  in  black  robes,  as  well 
as  head-bands,  girdles  and  sandals,  the  only  thing 
to  criticize  in  their  part  being  that  the  music  was 
not  minor. 

In  the  first  scene,  Mary  comes  in.  Her  gown  is 
old  pink  and  over  it  a  robin's-egg  blue  mantle 
with  white  head  drape.  She  is  supported  by  John, 
and  they  are  in  search  of  Christ.  Then  comes  the 
crowd,  with  Christ  too  weak  after  their  ill-treat- 
ment to  bear  his  immense  cross.  Simon  of  Cyrene 
throws  himself  into  the  breach,  and  as  they  pass, 
Mary  and  John  behold  it  all.  That  they  suffer 
untold  agony  is  visible.  Here  a  servant  of  Pilate 
comes    in,   bidding    them   stay  the   execution,  but 


THE   PA  SSION  PLA  V.  245 

Caiaphas  is  not  to  be  balked  in  this,  his  dearest 
desire,  and  hurries  them  on. 

In  the  sixteenth  representation  the  chorus  is 
still  in  black,  and,  despite  the  rain  is  coming  down 
briskly,  sing  and  do  their  part  with  fortitude. 
Here  dull,  thudding  sounds  send  a  chill  to  our 
souls  and  proclaim  the  fact  that  Christ  is  crucified. 
The  curtain  rises  on  Golgotha  ;  there  is  no  longer 
any  picture  to  typify  the  real  tragedy.  The  young 
and  old  thieves  are  already  on  the  crosses,  at 
either  side 

Now,  in  our  presence,  Christ  crucified  is  raised, 
and  without  doubt  this  is  the  most  consummate 
piece  of  stage  effect  in  the  world  to-day.  How 
Mayr  is  nailed  to  the  cross  no  one  knows,  but  to 
all  effect  he  is  really  crucified. 

Now  comes  the  grief  of  Mary,  John  and  the 
Magdelene,  who,  as  soon  as  the  crucifixion  is 
accomplished,  are  allowed  to  approach  the  cross. 
The  whole  scene  is  one  familiar  to  every  one. 
Then  comes  the  "  Mother,  behold  thy  son,"  from 
the  pale  lips  of  the  martyr,  and  as  he  expires  after 
the  sop,  and  the  artificial  earthquake  comes,  the 
rain  descends  and  the  real  thunder  echoes  and 
re-echoes  overhead,  making  the  scene  truly  terrific 
and  most  appalling ! 

After   his  side    is    pierced    he    is   then  tenderly 


246  AS    WE   SAW  IT  IN  '90. 

taken  down  from  the  cross.  This  is  perfectly- 
managed,  after  which  they  place  him  at  his 
mother's  feet,  dead. 

This  scene  occupies  fifteen  minutes. 

The  seventeenth  and  last  representation  was 
marred  by  the  rain,  although  the  chorus  went 
faithfully  through  with  its  part,  having  again  on 
their  colored  garments.  No  umbrellas  are  allowed 
up,  so  at  the  beginning  of  the  scene  I  cover  myself 
with  my  rug  ahd  patiently  await  the  resurrection. 
This  last  scene  is  quite  needed,  to  help  me  smile 
again,  since  the  reality  of  the  crucifixion  has  been 
most  harrowing. 

Would  I  see  it  again  ?  No,  I  could  not,  but 
because  I  have  seen  it  I  am  a  better  Christian  and 
honestly  admire  the  hardy,  pure  and  undefiled  race 
of  nineteenth-century  peasants  who  can  carry  out 
such  a  representation.  The  detail  throughout  is 
marvellous,  and  one  has  to  be  very  thankful  that 
such  is  the  fact. 

Many  have  said  it  was  absurd,  others  did  not 
see  it  when  in  the  neighborhood,  because  they 
had  decided  it  was  a  fraud  ;  but  I  think  it  is  a 
piece  of  kindness,  on  the  part  of  these  people, 
that  the  world  is  allowed  to  see  it.  As  to  the 
compensation  received  being  more  than  a  nominal 
sum,  I   am   prepared  to  contradict  such  a  state- 


THE   PASSION  PLAY.  247 

ment.  The  actors  are  only  paid  for  the  extra 
week-day  performances,  that  take  them  from 
home  and  field  duties. 

The  rumor  that  the  Passion  Play  of  '90  was  run 
by  a  syndicate  of  any  kind  is  untrue,  as  I  am 
informed  officially,  a  bit  of  knowledge  I  went  to 
some  pains  to  obtain. 

As  I  understand  it,  the  play  was  produced,  and 
all  expenses  borne,  by  the  community  who  gave  it. 
Therefore,  the  proceeds  of  tickets  sold  belonged 
to  them.  No  doubt  outside  parties  may  have 
rented  houses,  or  even  built  them,  in  the  hope  of 
filling  them  in  the  summer.  If  so,  as  owners  of 
rooms,  they  received  tickets  for  their  guests. 
Cook  and  Gaze,  no  doubt,  had  some  such  arrange- 
ment, and  hence  they  had  the  right  to  get  ten- 
mark  seats  in  advance,  if  they  wanted  to  chance  it. 

Our  landlord  came  from  Munich,  for  the  sum- 
mer, but  was  originally  from  here. 

We  were  simply  too  fatigued  to  go  off  that 
night,  as  did  most  of  the  audience,  and  so  slept 
again  quietly  in  our  cosy  beds,  while  the  rain  came 
down  in  torrents. 

The  next  morning  we  left  at  eight  o'clock  for 
Oberau  via  Ettal,  stopping  on  the  way  to  visit  its 
curious  church  and  monastery,  which  is  certainly 
unique. 


248  A  S    WE    SA  W  1 T  IN  '90. 

A  book,  instead  of  pages,  could  alone  do  credit 
to  this  remarkable  remnant  of  antiquity,  which 
looks  to  me  rooted  in  Oberammergau.  Bone  of 
its  people's  bone,  flesh  of  their  flesh,  which,  while 
it  cannot  harm,  may  be  of  use  to  quicken  by 
chance  dormant  Christians,  and  I  trust  all  who  see 
it  in  1900  will  be  as  impressed  and  benefited  as  we 
were  by  our  visit  to  this  Alpine  sanctuary. 


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SARAH      BERNHARDT     AS     THEODORA. 
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Dear  Madame  :  The  Recamier  Prepara- 
tions are  the  perfection  of  toilet  articles. 
Please  send  me  without  fail,  to-morrow, 
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Send     for   Pamphlets    of     Recamier    Toilet 
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The  constant  increase  in  the  tide  of  travel  makes  it  incumbent  upon  the  modcrn'bank 
to  supply  its  customers  with  every  facility  for  undertaking  foreign  tours.  In  order  to 
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graphs of  the  old  world,  and  provided  with  a  convenient  desk  and  shelves.  Here  the 
intending  traveler  may  from  the  very  inception  of  the  idea  of  a  trip  abroad  perfect  all 
his  arrangements.  Having  decided  upon  the  lirst  question  of  where  to  go  he  must  choose 
his  steamer,  and  for  this  purpose  he  will  find  in  the  Travelers'  Room  a  book  of  sailings, 
which  give  the  date  of  departure  and  return,  for  weeks  ahead,  of  every  steamer  on  all 
of  the  great  lines  of  ocean  travel.  His  boat  selected  he  may  now  pick  out  his  state- 
room, as  in  compartments  below  the  desk  he  will  find  diagrams  of  each  steamer,  showing 
berth  and  deck  arrangements. 

Supplemental  to  this  are  guide  books  for  all  quarters  of  the  globe,  including  the  latest 
issues  of  the  standard  works,  with  some  rare  volumes  treating  on  parts  of  the  world  not 
often  visited.  The  monthly  journals  issued  by  the  tourists'  offices  are  also  on  file,  and 
serve  as  skeleton  helps  for  those  who  desire  to  take  the  usual  routes,  or  who  prefer  to 
be  "personally  conducted."     Tours  of  this  kind  may  be  arranged  through  the  bank. 

Another  feature  of  the  Travelers'  Room  is  a  small  bulletin  board,  which  records 
the  daily  arrivals,  both  in  New  York  and  at  foreign  ports,  of  the  principal  steamers. 
This  list  is  kept  promptly  up  to  date,  and  is  of  use  to  persons  who  are  watching  for  the 
whereabouts  of  friends  en  route. 

In  the  matter  of  arrangements  for  money  every  modern  convenience  is  offered,  by 
letters  of  credit,  by  drafts  and  checks,  foreign  money,  etc.,  etc.  Formerly  travelers  from 
this  point  were  obliged,  when  procuring  letters  of  credit,  to  come  in  some  days  ahead, 
forward  signatures  and  wait  anxiously  for  return  of  credits,  which  sometimes  came  too 
late.  All  this  is  now  obviated.  The  bank  has  on  hand  a  practically  unlimited  amount 
of  the  letters  of  credit  of  Brown  Bros.  &  Co.,  signed  in  blank,  which  may  be  filled  out 
at  a  moment's  notice,  and  are  available  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Thus  the  traveler 
may  get  his  letter  at  the  Bank  of  Buffalo  as  late  as  the  afternoon  before  sailing,  as  has 
been  frequently  done. 

Where  letters  of  introduction  are  of  advantage,  the  bank  undertakes  to  furnish  them 
to  parties  producing  proper  credentials,  and  also  allows  the  usual  terms  on  deposit 
left  as  security  for  credits. 

To  more  completely  cover  the  ground  seems  hardly  possible,  and  the  traveler  for 
any  part  of  the  world — Europe,  Asia  or  Africa,  as  well  as  California,  Mexico  or  the  West 
Indies— will  find  himself  welt  prepared  if  he  avails  himself  of  the  advantages  offered. 

PINE     HUTLERY. 

We  always  have  in  Stock  a  Large  Assortment  of 

(garuers  apd  Table  K^es,   •    i with  ceiaiuUvSdiSesag  and 

Pr\n\jt>Y    l/niwoc  I  of  Rodgers,    Westenholm  and 

UlK^l    r\i;ivs>,  -j  other  makes 

DaZOTS  i  °*-  fcne  n'£uest  quality;  also  an 

It  *  *  '  J  immense  variety  of 

5G'SSOrS\  WALBRIDGE  &   CO, 

Hardware    Dealers, 
317,  319,  321   Washington  St.,  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 


UC5B  LIBRARY 


